BY 

William  LightfoorVlsschei; 


ROBERT  ERNEST  COWAN 


'WAY  OUT  YONDER 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  A  NEW  CITY 


BY 

WILLIAM  LIGHTFOOT  VISSCHER 


WITH  AN   INTRODUCTION 

BY 

OPIE  READ 


ILLUSTRATED 


*The  truth  that  is  found  in  fiction 

is  the  truest  truth  that  exists. 


CHICAGO 

LAIRD  &  LEE,  PUBLISHERS 
1898 


Entered  according:  to  Act  of  Congress  In 

the  year  1898. 
By  WILLIAM  H.  LEE. 

In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington.  D.  C. 
All  rights  reserved. 


PS 
3543 


DEDICATION 


This  volume  is  inscribed,  with  the  warmest  feelings 
of  comradeship,  to  my  dear  friend  and  whilom  fellow 
journalist, 

2*  CHARLES  WOODWORTH, 

Qg 

S£  of  Tacoma,  Washington. 

3E 

•%£  W.th  sincerest  wishes  that  wealth,  health  and  hap 

piness  may  be  his. 

THE  AUTHOR. 


INTRODUCTION, 

The  Puget  Sound  country  is  romantic  without 
being  old,  Unlike  the  mining  regions  of  the  flat 
and  ruder  West,  Puget  Sound  was  born  civilized, 
The  country  was  settled  by  the  finest  represent 
tives  of  American  manhood,  In  a  club  organized 
in  a  new  town  there  were  counted  more  than  two 
hundred  university  men,  The  sharp  fusilade  of 
a  street  fight,  the  terror  of  the  average  new  West, 
here  gave  place  to  the  mellow  accents  of  a  Greek 
tragedy.  The  oratory  of  the  "Seven  Hills"  found 
a  new  home  at  the  base  of  a  great  mountain,  It 
is  but  natural  that  out  of  this  country  should  come 
a  novel}  and  to  me  it  is  also  natural  that  the  lead 
should  be  taken  by  William  Lightfoot  Visscher, 
His  long  training  as  a  writer,  his  fervid  fancy, 
his  insight  into  character,  his  warm  imagination, 
fit  him  ably  for  the  work,  OPIE  READ. 


PREFACE 


If  this  book  does  not,  of  itself,  interest  those  who 
take  it  up,  certainly  a  preface  would  not  compel  an 
interest.  Hence  this  is  merely  the  form  of  such  an 
introduction. 

However,  it  may  not  be  out  of  the  way  to  remark 
that  the  story  contained  herein  is  presented  under 
the  garb  of  fiction  wherewith  to  clothe  some  interest 
ing  facts,  past  and  present  —  facts  that  are  stranger 
than  fiction  —  and  attempts  to  give  the  atmosphere 
of  a  region  and  its  conditions,  that  have  not  been 
considerably  exploited  in  romance. 

W.  L.  V. 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Chap.  I.       Duncan's  Cove     .           9 

Chap.  II.       St.  Movadu 23 

Chap.  III.       A  Church  Bell 40 

Chap.  IV.       Ada  Benson 54 

Chap.  V.       A  Confession 65 

Chap.  VI.       Independence  Day 77 

Chap.  VII.       The  Ajax 88 

Chap.  VIII.       A  Close  Call 105 

Chap.  IX.        "The  Kicker" .      .   116 

Chap.  X.       Duncan's  Return 122 

Chap.  XI.       Another  Rip  Van  Winkle 134 

Chap.  XII.       An  Opera  Opening 139 

Chap.  XIII.       A  Freeze-Out 154 

Chap.  XIV.       A  Setting  Sun 164 

Chap.  XV.       An  Aristocratic  Democrat 176 

Chap.  XVI.       Reminiscences 193 

Chap.  XVII.       The  "Kicker"  Again 209 

Chap.  XVIII.       A  Wedding 218 

Chap.  XIX.       The  Colossus 225 


WAY   OUT  YONDER. 

CHAPTER  I. 
Duncan's  Cove. 

Hurrah  for  the  land  of  the  setting  sun! 
Hurrah  for  the  state  of  Washington! 
Hurrah  for  the  men  and  women  and  all 
Who  came  to  make  the  forest  fall! 
Hurrah  for  every  pioneer 

Who  built  his  humble  cabin  here! 

— Washington! 

At  anchor  on  the  bosom  of  a  broad  and  hospitable 
bay  on  the  American  Pacific  coast,  one  bright  June 
morning  a  very  few  years  ago,  lay  a  clean  and  grace 
ful  brigantine. 

Within  a  stone's  throw  from  the  vessel  was  the  wide 
entrance  to  a  picturesque  cove  that  was  shaped  like  a 
horseshoe.  It  was  about  half  a  mile  wide  between  the 
calks  of  the  shoe,  so  to  speak.  A  gray,  gravelly  beach 
extended  more  than  half  way  'round  the  cove,  beginning 
at  the  right.  Further  toward  the  left  the  shore  became 
a  terrace  for  a  few  hundred  feet,  then  toward  its  left  ex- 

(9) 


10  DUNCAN'S  COVE 

tremity  the  bank  rose  in  a  solid  bluff  of  stone  almost  as 
regular  as  ruble  masonry,  with  here  and  there  a  shelving 
indentation  against  which  the  easy  swells  of  the  blue 
water  broke  with  rhythmic  beat,  as  if  that  was  their 
never-ending  business,  as  indeed  it  was,  for  those  same 
swells  are  breaking  there  yet,  in  just  that  manner,  and 
will  probably  continue  at  it  indefinitely. 

Other  swells  in  that  vicinity  have  broken  for  good 
and  all. 

Landward,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  was  a  dense, 
tangled,  primeval  and  mighty  forest  of  great  cedars, 
towering  firs  and  tall  tamaracks,  with  a  few  cottonwoods 
and  other  deciduous  trees,  that,  with  still  lighter  under 
growth,  of  vine  and  briar,  made  a  veritable  jungle.  It 
was  a  vast  green  and  brown  foreground  to  a  range  of 
mountains  at  the  back;  and  high  over  all,  white  mantled 
and  inexpressibly  imposing,  towered  a  regal  monarch 
among  the  sierras.  The  great  forest  undulated  in  con 
formity  with  the  earth,  its  mounds,  its  valleys,  its  gulches, 
canyons  and  foothills,  until  the  woods  reached  the  timber- 
line  on  the  mountain  side,  twenty  miles  or  more  away. 

The  scene  on  the  landward  side  of  the  brigantine  was 
broken  at  the  shore  by  an  attempt  at  a  small  wharf,  built 


DUNCAN'S  COVE  11 

upon  a  few  irregular  piles;  and  immediately  beyond  the 
wharf,  was  a  clearing  of  perhaps  two  hundred  feet  square. 

On  this,  near  the  water's  edge  at  high  tide,  stood  a  small, 
badly  constructed  and  dilapidated  log  cabin,  with  two  or 
three  outhouse  shacks  that  harmonized  in  their  rudeness, 
roughness  and  general  tumble-down  character  with  what, 
by  a  strain,  might  be  called  the  main  building. 

About  sunrise  on  the  morning  in  question,  on  the  deck 
of  the  vessel,  among  a  few  other  men,  a  part  of  the  crew 
of  the  brigantine,  stood  two  persons  who, from  their  dress 
and  manner,  were  evidently  men  of  affairs  in  the  great, 
busy  world,  and  both  appeared  to  be  of  good  fortune, 
as  well. 

Two  men  of  greater  differing  characteristics  and  posi 
tions  in  life,  however,  could  not  have  been  found  among 
the  respectable  element  of  the  city  in  which  they  lived, 
and  yet  they  had  many  interests  in  common,  in  widely 
differing  ways,  and  they  were  mutual  friends  withal.  * 

One,  a  stocky,  sturdy,  bearded  and  determined-looking 
man  of  about  fifty,  dressed  in  brown  beaver  clothes  of 
abusinesscut  and  a  silk  hat, was  Newton  Morse, amillion- 
aire  who  had  earned  every  dollar  of  his  vast  fortune  by 
hard  work  and  honest  enterprise.  He  had  started  out 


12  DUNCAN'S  COVE 

in  life,  early  in  his  "teens,"  as  a  railway  brakeman, 
forced  to  so  hard  a  calling  before  receiving  a  school 
education  beyond  "the  three  R's,"  by  dire  necessity. 
He  was  born  poor,  and  his  poverty  had  been  inherited 
through  a  line  of  descent  further  back  than  he  had  been 
able,  or  even  cared,  to  trace  his  genealogy.  Ad 
vancing  step  by  step  in  his  chosen  calling;  careful  of  his 
earnings;  always  possessed  of  the  most  rugged  health, 
which,  together  with  his  strict  integrity,  good  common 
sense  and  bull-dog  tenacity,  made  up  the  remainder  of 
his  inheritance,  he  became,  at  thirty  years  of  age,  a  sub 
contractor  and  afterward  a  sole  contractor  in  building 
railroads,  and  thus,  without  going  irlto  details  here,  his 
wealth  could  be  accounted  for. 

His  companion  was  a  wiry,  dark-skinned  man  of 
thirty-five  or  forty.  The  dress  of  this  individual  was  as 
good  or  better  than  that  of  Morse  as  to  quality,  but 
readily  betokened  the  difference  in  his  character.  The 
trousers  were  of  a  black  and  white,  small-checked  pat 
tern,  the  vest  and  coat  of  black  tricot — the  latter  of 
"Prince  Albert"  cut — and  his  hat  was  a  soft  felt,  as 
broad-brimmed  as  a  sombrero.  There  was  apparently 
something  of  the  artist  about  this  man,  and  yet  he  was 


DUNCAN'S  COVE  13 

not  painter,  poet,  sculptor  or  actor,  professionally,  but 
bohemian  enough  to  be  a  little  of  either,  or  all.  Liter 
ature  was  his  art,  and  yet  he  was  an  enthusiastic  man, 
active,  enterprising,  energetic,  ever-sanguine,  self-reliant, 
and  yet  wanting  in  self-valuation.  This  last  characteris 
tic  had  barred  his  way  to  wealth,  while  others,  less  capa 
ble,  and  in  the  same  line,  had  grown  "well-to-do,"  all 
around  him.  The  former  qualities  had  always  provided 
facilities  by  which  he  had  earned  a  good  livelihood,  and 
could  be  counted  on  to  do  that  so  long  as  he  was  young 
enough  to  work  at  his  calling.  Together,  all  the  char 
acteristics  mentioned  as  his,  were  jus'f  the  combination 
necessary  for  his  success  in  making  fortune  and  fame  for 
the  ambitious  among  his  friends  who  chose  to  manage 
him  for  such  ends.  This  was  Howard  Van  Waters. 

These  two  men  came  up  to  the  main  deck  of  the 
brigantine  together,  and  after  some  exclamations  of  de 
light  from  Van  Waters,  expressive  of  his  easy,  and  to  be 
expected  appreciation  of  the  strong  scene  before  them, 
Morse  quietly  remarked: 

"I  have  bought  three  hundred  acres  of  land  right 
there." 


14  DUNCAN'S  COVE 

"Who  in  heaven's  name  owned  it  before  you?"  queried 
Van  Waters. 

"Duncan,  the  squatter,  there." 

"And  what  are  yon  going  to  do  with  it?" 

"I  am  going  to  build  a  city  here." 

"Oh,  you  are!" 

"Yes,  and  you  are  going  to  help  me." 

"Am  I?  Well,  I'm  glad  to  hear  that,  and  a  little  more 
astonished  at  it  than  at  what  you  say  you  are  going  to  do. 
But  I  suppose  you  know  all  about  it." 

"I  ought  to  know.  I  have  been  figuring  dn  this  thing 
for  the  last  four  years;  have  had  men  cruising  the  region 
during  nearly  all  of  that  time;  have  been  here  frequently 
myself — " 

"Oh,  that's  where  you  have  been  slipping — 

"Don't  interrupt  me — and  I  know  what  the  resources 
of  this  country  are.  I'll  tell  you  all  the  particulars  after 
breakfast—" 

"Suit  y<^u*rself.    Any  time  will  do  me." 

"But,  in  the  rough,  I  will  just  say  to  you  now  that 
those  hills' are  full  of  coal  and  iron;  those  mountains  are 
full  of  gold,  silver  and  lead;  these  forests  are  full  of  the 
best  timber  in  the  world;  this  harbor  is — " 


DUNCAN'S  COVE  15 

"Full  of  fish,  I  suppose,  and — 

"Yes,  sir;  and  you  are  full  of  interruptions — probably 
other  things — but  I  was  going  to  say  that  this  harbor  is 
the  best  one  on  the  Pacific  coast.  Its  area  of  holding 
ground — 

"Float  the  navies — " 

"Dry  up!" 

"No;    Does  it?" 

"Its  area  of  holding  ground  is  greater;  it  is  safer  from 
storms;  the  resources  of  its  shores  are  more  opulent,  and 
it  is  nearer  to  the  open  sea  than  any  other  on  this  coast 
possessing  the  same  advantages.  Here  is  the  place  for  a 
great  city." 

"All  right,  we'll  build  it.     A  great  man  once  said,  'A 
first-class   hotel,   a   first-class   theatre,   and   a   first-class 
newspaper,  will  rally  a  city  about  them  in  the  wilderness.' 
This  seems  to  be  sufficient  of  a  wilderness  to  test  the- 
matter." 

"We'll  have  all  of  them  and  more,  too.  Railroads  and 
coal-bunkers,  iron  smelters,  saw-mills — we'll  have  the 
who-le  thing — hello;  here's  the  major." 

"Seems  there  are  some  minors  also.    The  population 


16  DUNCAN'S  COVE 

has  already  begun  to  increase.     Who  are  those  beings, 

Morse?" 

"That  old  codger  pushing  off  the  canoe  is  Duncan,  the 
small  fry  are  his  half-breed  children,  the  old  squaw  is  his 
'kloochman,'  and  the  party  in  the  canoe  with  Duncan  is 
Major  Stamina,  my  agent,  and  when  he  gets  here  I'll 
show  you  a  boomer — in  fact — I'll  show  you  one  before  he 
gets  here." 

Duncan  was  as  queer  a  looking  personage  as  one 
could  hope  to  see  in  even  such  a  place.  He  had  got 
himself  up  on  the  present  occasion  to  appear  well  before 
the  party  of  the  second  part  in  the  big  trade  they  had  lately 
made,  and  which  had  made  the  squatter  the  imminent 
possessor  of  more  money  than  he  had  ever  been  quite 
sure  there  was  in  the  world.  For  this  wild  ranch,  ever 
so  far  from  any  where,  and  on  which  Duncan  had  lived 
with  a  "Siwash"  squaw  for  nearly  two  decades  and  until 
between  them  had  come  half  breed  progeny  ranging  all 
the  way  from  a  wood  chopper  to  the  pappoose  strapped 
to  the  kloochman's  back,  he  was  about  to  receive  the  sum 
of  $100,000  in  gold  coin,  silver  or  paper  money  just  as  he 
chose  to  cash  the  draft. 

But  he  was  paddling,  like  an  Indian,  the.  canoe  that 


DUNCAN'S  COVE  17 

was  bringing  Major  Stamina  out  to  the  brigantine  and 
he  was  as  deferential  to  that  gentleman  as  if  he  hadn't 
sold  his  ranch  for  big  money  and  if  the  first  street  in  the 
city  was  not  to  be  named  Duncan  Avenue  in  honor  of 
himself. 

He  was  deferential  to  the  major  notwithstanding  he 
had  in  honor  of  the  occasion  donned  his  ancient  plug 
hat  that  had  been  cut  around  the  crown  and  lowered  for 
a  distance,  and  as  if  he  had  not  pulled  on  his  one  boot 
and  one  shoe,  which  odd  pair,  together  with  the  "cut 
plug,"  he  only  wore  on  high  days  and  holidays — state 
occasions,  so  to  speak. 

By  the  way,  hats  are  very  expressive  always  and  any 
where,  if  one  has  the  time  and  philosophy  to  observe 
them.  From  the  elegant  silk  beaver  of  a  dressy  duke, 
to  the  most  disreputable  looking  slouch  that  covers  the 
unkempt  poll  of  a  confirmed  tramp,  this  is  true. 

Duncan's  present  hat  was  not  an  exception.  With 
that  budding  nabob  it  was  a  compromise  between  dem 
ocracy  and  aristocracy.  Duncan  had  been  for  years  the 
leading  citizen  of  the  region  in  which  his  ranch  lay,  partly 
because  there  were  very  few  other  people  for  miles 
around,  beside  himself  and  his  brevet  family,  and  those 


18  DUNCAN'S  COVE 

few  had  not  proved  up  on  their  claims,  hence  were  not 
possessed  of  government  patents,  as  Duncan  was.  None 
of  the  others  had  so  much  as  an  apology  for  a  wharf,  as 
Duncan  had,  and  none  of  them  ever  thought  of  such  a 
thing  as  making  any  attempt  at  a  change  of  personal 
appearance,  as  Duncan  sometimes  did.  As  a  result 
Duncan  was  the  leading  citizen  and  was  allowed  to  do 
any  little  turn  possible  for  a  stray  craft  of  any  sort  that 
might  show  itself  at  Duncan's  cove.  Hence  the  hat  and 
the  boot  and  shoe. 

As  before  remarked,  the  hat  was  an  ancient  tile  of  the 
plug  variety  cut  down.  To  have  left  it  at  its  original 
altitude  was  too  much  style  for  that  "neck  of  woods," 
but  lowered  as  it  was  it  was  still  a  plug,  though  some 
what  an  humble  one,  and  thus  democracy  and  aristocracy 
net  on  a  fairly  equal  footing  in  Duncan's  holiday  head 
gear.  Had  it  remained  at  its  original  height  it  would 
have  suggested  great  value  to  the  outside  world  as  an 
heirloom,  but  no  one,  in  even  the  remote  vicinity  of  the 
Cove,  knew  that  and  would  have  appreciated  the  ar 
ticle  at  its  full  value  if  he  had.  But  under  this  hat,  in  a 
heterogeneous  collection  of  other  apparel,  that  is  to  say, 
a  woolen  shirt  that  had  probably  been  of  some  bright 


DUNCAN'S  COVE  ,  .     19 

color  originally,  a  pair  of  overall  trousers  that  gave  some 
evidence  of  having  once  been  blue,  and  a  jacket  made 
from  a  curtailed  "slicker,"  with  one  leg  of  the  overalls 
ostentatiously  tucked  in  the  top  of  the  boot  and  the  shoe 
leg  rolled  up  a  few  turns,  as  a  sort  of  stand-off  for  the 
boot,  Duncan  came  aboard  the  brigantine  with  Major 
Stamina,  who  had  been  cheerfully  and  vociferously  yell 
ing  numerous  and  mostly  indistinguishable  things,  from 
the  time  of  his  appearance  on  the  shore  until  his  footing 
had  been  obtained  upon  the  deck  of  the  vessel.  Some 
of  those  yells  had  been  intended  for  the  klootchman  and 
half-breeds  on  the  ranch,  a  few  of  them  for  Duncan  but 
the  majority  of  them  for  the  people  on  the  brigantine, 
and  all  were  good  humored,  for  the  major  was  a  mer 
curial  man,  sanguine,  earnest  and  irrepressible,  and  what 
he  didn't  know  about  real  estate  in  the  west  wasn't  worth 
looking  for  any  further. 

When  the  canoe  reached  the  brigantine  the  major 
clambered  up  and  over  the  side  of  the  vessel,  carrying  his 
two  hundred  and  odd  pounds  of  avoirdupois  as  if  he  were 
yet  a  boy,  and  he  lit  on  the  deck  with  the  agility  of  an 
acrobat.  Forthwith  he  fell  to  shaking  hands  with  every 
body  he  could  reach,  two  at  a  time,  whether  he  had  ever  . 


20  DUNCAN'S  COVE 

met  them  before  or  not,  using  both  hands  in  the  process, 
and  talking  all  the  time  as  volubly  as  a  "shouter"  for  a 
side-show,  in  such  expression  as : 

"Say,  this  is  the  biggest  proposition  on  earth.  I've 
sold  town  lots  to  a  hundred  people  who  don't  know  any 
more  where  the  streets  are  than  I  do.  But  that'll  be  all 
right." 

"Say,  there's  a  hen  on  here,  and  no  mistake,  and 
something's  hatchin',  sure's  you  are  alive." 

"Glad  to  see  you,  old  man" — this  to  Morse — "things 
are  working  to  a  T.  Y.  tee.  Surveyors  be  in  to-morrow 
to  lay  off  the  streets.  Hundred  people  over  at  Watchy 
waiting  for  a  chance;  probably  a  thousand  by  next 
week." 

Then  seizing  Van  Waters  he  said:  "Say,  I've  got 
just  the  thing  you  want.  Ten  lots  on  a  rise  of  ground. 
Sure  to  be  spang  in  the  center  of  business  and — 

"Never  mind  him,"  interposed  Morse;  "I'll  look  after 
him." 

In  the  meantime  Duncan  had  come  aboard,  having 
made  fast  his  canoe  to  a  line  that  hung  over  the  ship's 
side,  and  then  the  millionaire,  the  major,  the  newspaper 


DUNCAN'S  COVE  21 

man  and  the  immifient  nabob,  went  below  to  talk  matters 
over,  perfect  plan's,  eat  breakfast  and  settle  things. 

The  business  in  the  cabin  of  the  brigantine  was  of 
multifarious  character  and  resulted  in  the  exchange  of 
agreements,  a  deed,  a  draft,  promissory  notes,  etc.,  be 
tween  Duncan  and  Morse,  boom  talk  and  advertising 
plans  between  the  major,  Van  Waters  and  Morse,  and 
information  from  Morse  concerning  the  coming  of  men 
and  material  for  clearing  the  forest,  grading  streets  and 
building  needful  houses  for  the  beginning  of  the  city. 

These  matters  being  settled,  the  major  bade  a  demon 
strative  good-bye  to  everybody  on  the  vessel  with 
assurances  to  all  that  upon  their  return  they  wouldn't 
know  the  place,  and  other  characteristic  displays  of  his 
peculiar  quality. 

Duncan  pinned  his  draft  for  $25,000  and  promissory 
notes  for  $75,000  more  into  a  pocket  of  his  woolen  shirt, 
and  meekly  manned  the  canoe  which,  with  the  buoyant 
and  enthusiastic  major  as  the  only  other  occupant,  shot 
'out  across  the  waters  toward  the  little  wharf. 

The  crew  of  the  brigantine  were  soon  busily  hoisting 
the  anchor  and  making  sail.  The  white  canvas,  un- 
clewed,  spread  gracefully  before  the  favoring  breeze,  the 


22  DUNCAN'S  COVE 

sprightly  craft  answering  promptly  the  helm,  stood  sea 
ward,  and  with  the  easy  movement  of  a  lithe  and  willowy 
woman  retiring  from  a  drawing  room,  bore  away  and  was 
directly  hidden  from  the  view  of  those  at  the  Cove  be-g 
hind  a  southern  headland.     Whereupon  the  major  re 
marked  sententiously : 
"We'll  see  you  later." 


CHAPTER  II. 
St.  Movadu. 

Bright  cities  decked  the  boundless  west, 
And  here  the  promise  of  the  best 
Sprang  up  as  if  the  builder's  arm 

Was  aided  by  a  magic  charm. 

— A  Modern  Temple. 

Among  the  other  matters  agreed  upon  during  the 
consultation  in  the  cabin  was  the  name  of  the  coming 
city,  and  it  was  duly  christened  St.  Movadu.  Not  that 
any  member  of  the  quartet  had  a  patron  saint  of  such  a 
name,  or  that  either  of  them  had  ever  been  informed 
that  there  was  a  St.  Movadu  in  all  of  the  elastic  calendar. 
But  they  were  having  such  difficulty  in  agreeing  upon  a 
title  for  the  future  metropolis  that  the  newspaper  man 
with  characteristic  fertility  of  resource  fell  upon  the  idea 
of  taking  the  first  two  letters  from  all  of  their  surnames, 
and  thus  from  Stamina,  Morse,  Van  Waters  and  Duncan 
was  evolved  St.  Movadu,  and  in  the  language  of  the 
major,  "it  went."  The  major,  also,  in  earnest  expression 
of  his  appreciation  of  Van  Waters'  ingenuity,  exclaimed: 

(23) 


24  ST.  MOVADU 

"Say!  I  wouldn't  have  had  you  left  out  of  this  deal  for 
a  horse  and  wagon." 

Van  felt  flattered.    It  was  easy  to  flatter  that  man. 

On  shore,  the  major  having  no  other  moneyed  individ 
ual  near  at  hand  just  then  to  operate  on  began  at  once  to 
picture  the  prospects,  probabilities  and  possibilities  of  the 
coming  city  to  Duncan  in  such  vivid  colors,  and  with 
such  convincing  eloquence,  that  in  a  very  short  time  he 
had  sold  town  lots  in  four  different  places  to  that  en 
tranced  capitalist  in  the  amount  of  several  thousand 
dollars. 

Duncan  was  no  fool  either.  He  knew  that  the  land 
under  Morse's  ownership  and  intentions  was  worth  a 
great  deal  more  than  it  was  while  he  owned  it,  pressed 
as  he  was  before  the  sale  for  ready  cash,  and  uninflu- 
ential  as  he  would  have  been  in  developing  a  wild  ranch 
into  a  city.  Thus  the  purchase  of  a  small  portion  of  that 
land  at  500  per  cent,  mo-re  than  he  had  sold  it  for,  was  the 
best  bargain  of  his  life. 

Duncan  had  seen  a  time  when  he  was  a  far  different 
man  from  what  he  was  when  Newton  Morse  discovered 
him  as  the  owner  of  the  ranch  and  wharf  at  Duncan's 
Cove. 


ST.  MOVADU  25 

Nobody  had  ever  taken  the  trouble  to  inquire  what 
was  Duncan's  name  in  the  states,  nor  what  had  brought 
him  to  the  western  edge  of  the  republic  and  its  deep  and 
little  explored  wilderness. 

He  had  first  seen  the  light  in  the  far  away  state  of 
Tennessee  and  had  been  blessed  in  his  youth  with  some 
slight  advantages  of  education  and  country  society,  on 
the  waters  of  the  French  Broad.  In  due  course  of  time 
he  had  taken  unto  himself  a  wife  who  was  pretty  and 
vain,  entirely  illiterate  and  weak  enough,  even  after  she 
had  become  the  mother  of  a  healthy  girl  baby,  to  be 
misled  by  a  handsome  stranger,  notwithstanding  that 
she  loved  her  husband  with  all  the  fervor  of  her  rustic 
soul. 

The  husband  discovered  his  dishonor,  slew  the  man 
and  silently  fled. 

He  halted  not  until  he  had  landed  at  the  cove  with 
nothing  on  earth,  and  but  little  on  his  back,  and  without 
even  so  much  as  a  name  beyond  the  one  he  had  assumed. 

Here  for  nearly  twenty  years  he  had  lived,  almost  a 
hermit,  and  had  become  possessed  of  his  lands,  his  squaw 
and  his  half-breed  progeny,  obtaining  money  for  such 
few  purposes  as  became  necessary  through  the  sale  of 


26  ST.  MOVADU 

wood  to  semi-occasional  vessels,  and  from  furs  and  pelts 

which  he  now  and  then  disposed  of  to  traders  in  those 

wares. 

Perhaps  three  times  in  all  this  residence  in  the  wilder 
ness,  Duncan  had  visited  the  chief  town  of  the  territory, 
but  now  with  his  vast  fortune  of  a  hundred  thousand  he 
had  been  seized  with  a  desire  to  again  take  a  place  in  the 
haunts  of  men,  and  he  did. 

Whatever  Duncan  said  to  'his  kloochman  in  that 
strange  jargon  called  "Chinook"  that  was  created  by  the 
Hudson's.  Bay  fur  hunters  and  which  has  since  been  the 
means  of  communication  between  the  whites  and  Indians 
of  the  Northwest  Pacific  coast,  probably  no  one  will  ever 
know.  But  with  seeming  willingness  she  took  her  back- 
strapped  pappoose  and  the  one  next  youngest  and  went 
away  to  her  tribe.  And  in  the  course  of  a  few  weeks 
Duncan  betook  himself  to  San  Francisco.  Not,  .how 
ever,  until  his  lots  had  been  located  and  he  had  the 
deeds  for  them. 

These  had  been  busy  weeks  also  with  Major  Stamina. 
A  number  of  vessels  had  arrived,  bringing  men,  horses, 
plows,  scrapers,  the  machinery  of  a  saw-mill,  several 


ST.  MOVADU  27 

blacksmithing  outfits,  numbers  of  tents  and  a  stock  of 
goods  suitable  for  the  wants  of  the  crowd. 

The  sawmill  was  busy  at  work  in  the  course  of  two  or 
three  days,  and  as  rapidly  as  the  circular  steel  buzzed 
through  the  logs  and  turned  off  slabs  or  planks,  they 
were  borne  away  for  the  construction  of  temporary 
buildings;  hundreds  of  men  slashed  amid  the  timber 
which  was  -turned  into  saw  logs,  sills,  firewood,  while  vast 
quantities  of  excellent  timber  were  piled  with  the  brush 
and  general  refuse  and  burned.  Continuous  detonations, 
as  from  a  contest  of  opposing  batteries  of  artillery,  came  all 
day  from  giant  powder  shots  with  which  men  were  up 
rooting  the  huge  and  deep-delving  stumps.  Steamers 
every  day  brought  more  men,  and  these  brought  more 
stores,  sawmills  and  all  the  business  adjuncts  of  the 
greatest  "boom"  that  had  ever  been  heard  of. 

"Real  estate"  offices  and  whisky  shops  soon  alternated 
for  distances  along  the  main  street,  that  had  now 
been  outlined  and  which  was  being  rapidly  cleared, 
graded  and  plank-walked.  In  some  places  the  real  estate 
offices  flocked  together,  three  or  four  in  a  row,  and  the 
saloons  did  the  same.  Then  here  and  there  appeared  a 
butcher  shop,  a  bakery,  a  grocery,  a  restaurant.  The 


28  ST.  MOVADU 

wharf  was  enlarged  and  reconstructed  with  greater 
strength.  Several  floating  pile-drivers  were  busy  day  and 
night  with  their  ceaseless  "Wher-er-er-er-er-er-er-blung!" 
The  rat-tat  of  the  hammer,  the  sneezing  song  of  the  hand 
saw,  tftie  hiss  of  the  plane,  the  rhythmic  jingle  of  the 
sledge  and  hammer  on  the  anvil,  the  shouts,  songs, 
whistles  and  oaths  of  busy  men — all  were  heard  through 
out  the  day  and  far  into  the  night.  More  ambitious 
Buildings,  some  two  stories  and  occasionally  one  three 
stories  higih,  went  up.  A  dance  and  "variety"  theatre 
building  were  soon  erected,  and  one  day  came  a  steamer 
bringing  a  bevy  of  women  for  the  dance  house  and 
theatre,  and  a  brass  band  for  the  same,  and  the  woods  and 
hills  echoed  every  evening  to  the  really  pleasing  and 
fairly  good  music  of  the  band  that  played  on  the  balcony 
in  front  of  the  "Theatre  Comique." 

The  streets  increased  in  number  and  checkered  the 
townsite;  lots  got  to  be  worth  one  hundred,  then  three 
hundred,  five  hundred  dollars  a  front  foot  in  the  most 
eligible  places,  and  sometimes  more. 

The  St.  Movadu  Townsite  Company,  composed  of 
Newton  Morse,  president;  James  Keen,  secretary;  Walter 
Phelps,  treasurer;  with  a  few  other  stockholders,  and 


ST.  MOVADU  29 

Major  Stamina,  general  agent,  had  sold  and  was  still  sell 
ing  lots  at  uniform  prices,  according  to  location,  with  a 
general  advance  every  few  weeks  as  the  city  grew,  and 
these  lots  were  sold  and  resold,  sometimes  twice  or 
thrice  a  day,  each  seller  realizing  startling  profits  from 
his  transaction. 

The  real  estate  agents  were  doing  "a  land  office  busi 
ness,"  and  men  grew  rich.  Everybody  made  money, 
and  the  fame  of  St.  Movadu  went  abroad. 

In  the  course  of  four  or  five  months  there  was  a 
population  of  two  thousand  people,  actual  settlers.  Many 
neat  and  pretty  cottages  had  sprung  up  on  the  hillside, 
when  the  winter — or  rather  the  rainy  season — began  to 
show  signs  of  approach,  and  a  few  wives,  daughters, 
sisters,  mothers  and  other  female  relatives  of  the  business 
men  wepe  domiciled  in  the  new  city.  Before  many  resi 
dences  had  been  erected  and  furnished,  however,  a  num 
ber  of  ladies  and  a  few  children  had  come  to  stay  with  their 
male  relatives,  and  these  families  lived  temporarily  in 
rooms  in  the  second  stories,  over  the  business  houses. 

A  better  natured,  more  sociable  and  unconventional, 
neighborly  and  happy  collection  of  people  does  not  live  in 


30  ST.  MOVADU 

Arcadia  than  dwelt  in  St.  Movadu  in  those  lively,  hurry 
ing,  booming,  hurrah  days. 

Meantime  the  "St.  Movadu  Times"  was  among  the 
people.  It  was  a  daily  from  the  start.  Van  Waters  had 
not  been  idle.  On  the  contrary,  he  had  been  entirely 
along  with  the  rush,  and  generally  ahead  of  it.  His 
little  journal  was  amply  patronized  from  the  first.  It 
teemed  with  advertisements,  and  had  to  be  enlarged 
about  once  a  month,  until  from  a  five-column  folio,  it 
grew  in  five  months  to  a  six-column  quarto,  and  some 
times  on  Sunday  it  was  forced  to  come  out  with  twelve 
and  even  sixteen  pages  to  accommodate  its  advertising 
patrons  and  contain  enough  reading  matter  to  decently 
carry  its  displays  of  heralded  merchandise.. 

It  is  true  that  Van  Waters  did  not  own  the  outfit, 
which  was  quite  an  extensive  one,  for  at  the  beginning  it 
had  a  revolving  press  which  at  first  went  by  man-power 
at  the  crank,  and  a  "Nonpareil  jobber,"  with  a  good 
supply  of  type  and  other  accessories  of  "a  first-class  coun 
try  office,"  all  of  which  occupied  a  big  room  on  the  sec 
ond  floor  over  the  main  saloon  of  the  town,  with  a  little 
den  partitioned  off  for  the  editorial  room  and  another 
for  the  business  office.  But  its  business  increasing  so 


ST.  MOVADU  .  31 

rapidly,  a  two-story  building  with  a  brick  basement  was 
erected  on  a  town  company  lot,  and  this  spacious  affair 
contained  a  small  steam  engine  that  drove  the  news 
paper  press  and  job  presses,  all  of  which  were  kept 
running  at  a  great  rate  eight  or  ten  hours  out  of  the 
twenty-four. 

Such  an  outfit  as  this  was  far  beyond  the  means  of 
Van  Waters,  but  he  was  given  "a  working  interest"  con 
tingent  upon  his  working  a  certain  length  of  time — two 
years,  perhaps — and  'he  was  paid  an  excellent  salary. 
The  outfit  was  really  owned  by  the  "Times  Printing  and 
Publishing  Company,"  which  was  composed  of  the  Town 
Site  Company,  and  other  firms,  real  estate  people,  bank 
ers,  lawyers,  merchants,  et  al.,  and  while  Van  Waters 
was  not  a  business  man  he  was  an  enthusiastic  "hustler," 
and  a  live  editor,  sometimes  classed  with  the  "red  hot" 
variety. 

But  then  the  Times  had  a  business  manager.  His 
name  was  John  Cole,  and  he  was  supposed  to  know  all 
about  business  management  that  has  ever  been  learned  in 
a  newspaper  office.  And  he  did,  so  far  as  looking  after 
Mr.  Cole's  business  interests  were  concerned.  He  was  a 
meek  and  acquiescent  sort  of  a  saintly  sinner,  was  this 


32  ST.  MOVADU 

Cole.  He  was  tall  and  thin,  and  looked  as  if  he  were  too 
hungry  to  be  able  to  eat  much.  He  was  a  great  worker, 
and  would  put  in  hours  and  days,  even  weeks,  folding 
newspapers,  "settin'  pi,"  bundling  old  exchange  papers 
for  sale  at  twenty-five  cents  a  hundred — none  of  which 
were  ever  sold — and  in  doing  all  sorts  of  jobs  that  would 
have  been  just  the  proper  employment  for  a  two-dollar- 
a-week  boy.  He  doted  on  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  and  depre 
cated  the  fact  that  a  branch  of  that  worthy  institution  had 
not  been  establish  in  St.  Movadu,  while  he  continually 
swore  in  a  feeble  sort  of  way,  such  oaths  as  "dog-gone 
it,"  and  "gosh  durn  it."  But  he  managed  the  business 
part  of  the  Times  right  along,  as  will  further  appear  in 
these  faithful  chronicles. 

As  a  clerk  to  somebody  or  something,  Jack  Lacy  came 
early  to  St.  Movadu.  No  new  city  could  possibly  be 
anywhere  near  provided  for  without  just  such  a  person  as 
this  same  Jack  Lacy.  He  was  the  personification  of  ver 
satility.  If  he  hadn't  been  he  would  never  have  been  able 
to  get  there.  But  Jack  was  able-bodied,  though  not  a 
large  man.  He  was  about  thirty-five  years  old  then,  of 
medium  height  and  build — as  the  descriptive  circulars  of 
a  fugitive  from  justice  might  say, 


ST.  MOVADU  33 

He  had  a  bright,  but  homely  face,  with  hair  the  color 
of  a  new  coffee  sack,  and  long,  white  eyelashes,  with 
moustache  and  eyebrows  to  match,  and  his  eyes  were  a 
strong,  grayish  blue.  But  Jack  was  an  excellent  book 
keeper,  could  play  a  banjo  beautifully,  knew  how  to  sell 
groceries  or  dry  goods,  and  could  sing  humorous  songs 
in  a  clear  and  rich  tenor.  He  was  familiar  with  a  camera 
and  could  develop  a  photograph,  and  was  rich  in  mem 
orized  selections  from  Shakespeare,  Burns,  Scott,  James 
Whitcomb  Riley,  Bill  Nye  and  numerous  other  people, 
all  the  way  between,  before  and  behind.  Moreover,  he 
could  "render"  those  selections  in  a  style  of  declamation, 
original  or  imitative,  that  would  have  made  his  fortune 
as  a  comedian  or  professional  entertainer. 

These  were  only  a  few  of  Jack  Lacy's  accomplish 
ments,  and  with  them  all  he  had  the  courage  of  a  lion 
and  the  tenderness  of  a  good  woman.  He  loved  birds, 
flowers,  music,  and  all  the  arts  he  had  ever  come  in 
contact  with,  and  he  had  a  genuine,  unconventional  po 
liteness  that  was  born  of  a  generous  heart.  He  made  no 
further  attempts  in  the  line  of  literature  than  the  occa 
sional  composition  of  a  clever,  timely  and  topical  rhyme, 
but  it  seemed  that  if  he  had  cultivated  humorous  liter- 


34  ST.  MOVADU 

ature  he  would  have  succeeded  well  for  many  reasons, 

a  very  strong  one  of  which  was  that  he  was  possessed  of 

much  of  the  same  nature  as  Oliver  Goldsmith — poor  old 

"Noll." 

There  were  times  in  Jack  Lacy's  life — even  in  St. 
Movadu — when  he  was  excellently  well  dressed,  even  to 
the  extent  of  a  full  evening  dress  suit,  for  proper  occa 
sions,  and  there  were  also  times  when  his  dress  was  de 
cidedly  "passe."  But  he  had  been  heard  to  say  when  his 
coat  was  torn  and  he  had  been  told  that  he  should  have 
it  mended,  that  a  rent  might  be  the  accident  of  a  moment, 
while  a  patch  was  premeditated  poverty. 

During  Jack's  early  days  in  St.  Movadu  it  is  known 
that  he  worked  faithfully  and  well  for  a  few  weeks  as 
clerk  for  a  real  estate  agent,  and  was  fairly  paid,  but  a 
convivial  affair  occurred  and  Jack  took  to  the  flow 
ing  bowl  on  one  of  the  periodical  sprees  to  which  he  was 
subject,  and  halted  not  until  he  had  dissipated  his  sub 
stance  and  his  place  had  been  filled  by  a  soberer  man. 

Jack  lived  precariously  for  a  few  days,  and  then  he 
was  employed  by  a  grocer  to  drive  a  delivery  wagon, 
and  all  went  well  for  a  month  until  another  convivial 
attack  seized  him  and  the  grocer's  horse  ran  away  with 


ST.  MOVADU  35 

him  and  the  grocery  wagon,  to  the  utter  disintegration  of 
the  vehicle  and  a  bruising  for  Jack  that  laid  him  up  sev 
eral  days  under  the  care  of  a  doctor  and  at  the  expense 
of  Howard  Van  Waters  and  Major  Stamina,  w>ho  were 
his  staunch  and  admiring  though  reprimanding  friends. 

Indeed,  during  Jack's  first  year  in  the  new  city,  he  had 
nearly  as  many  ups  and  downs  as  may  be  crowded  by 
one  individual  into  that  space  of  time — barring,  of  course, 
the  conductor  of  an  elevator — but  to  quote  from  the  an 
nals  of  modern  gladiatorship,  he  always  came  up  smiling 
and  he  was  a  general  favorite  in  those  unconventional 
days. 

Early  in  that  time,  .that  is  to  say  when  families  were 
living  overhead,  so  to  speak,  and  before  the  traveling 
dramatic  troupes  had  learned  the  way  to  St.  Movadu,  the 
desire  for  some  sort  of  a  public  entertainment  grew  so 
strong  upon  the  people — those  who  couldn't  go  to  the 
variety  theatre,  or,  at  least  take  their  families  there — that  a 
program  of  musical  and  literary  numbers  was  organized 
among  the  home  talent,  and  having  been  duly  announced 
in  the  "Times,"  and  with  some  handbills  and  "dodgers" 
pasted  up  and  thrown  about,  the  affair  came  off  in  due 
season  in  the  dining  room  of  the  "Great  Western  Hotel," 


36  ST.  MOVADU 

which  was  the  very  promising  name  of  the  best  attempt  at 

a  caravansary  that  had  up  to  this  time  been  established. 

Jack  Lacy's  accomplishments  were  numerously  called 
into  play  on  that  occasion  and  his  name  alternated  in  the 
numbers  on  the  program.  Indeed,  as  some  one  expressed 
it  at  the  time,  "Jack  well  nigh  gave  the  whole  show,  and 
the  others  were  just  put  in  to  toll  him  on." 

Be  that  as  it  may,  Jack  covered  himself  all  over  with 
glory  and  became  the  general  toast. 

A  few  of  the  upstairs  livers  took  to  giving  private 
entertainments,  and  if  Jack  couldn't  be  there  they  were 
postponed.  The  first  of  these,  and  thereby  the  first 
"social  event"  of  St.  Movadu,  was  called  a  "reception," 
and  it  was  given  in  the  rooms  of  Judge  and  Mrs.  West- 
lake.  Not  because  Westlake  was  a  judge,  was  he  so 
called,  but  because  he  was  the  pioneer  lawyer  of  the  new 
city,  and  he  wasn't  an  erudite  jurist  either.  In  the  ex 
pressive,  rather  than  delicate  terms  of  the  times,  he  had 
"only  been  vaccinated  for  a  lawyer,  and  it  didn't  take  as 
well  as  it  might."  But  the  judge  and  his  jolly  little  wife 
were  looked  up  to  as  social  leaders  then,  and  the  "elite" 
were  there  as  well  as  numerous  other  persons,  and  the 
stuffy  little  rooms  were  packed  so  full  that  one  thought 


ST.  jMOVADU  37 

of  going  out  to  turn  around,  if  he  thought  of  turning  at 
all. 

Mrs.  Westlake  was  somewhat  perplexed  before  an 
nouncing  the  entertainment  as  to  whether  she  s'hould  call 
it  a  ."reception"  or  a  "musicale,"  but  deferring  to  the 
judge's  more  dignified  and  well-balanced  opinion,  it  was 
called  a  reception,  and  yet  it  was  to  be  a  display  of  mu 
sical  and  literary  talent  to  be  volunteered  by  the  guests. 
Jack  was  invited  to  come  and  "bring  his  banjo, "and  these 
with  the  Httle.upright  piano  that  took  more  room  than  it 
deserved,  seeing  that  it  was  never  used  for  musical  pur 
poses,  and  it  was  probably  so  much  out  of  tune  that  its 
use  would  have  been  impossible,  were  expected  to  fur 
nish  all  the  musical  concords  of  the  occasion.  But  no 
master  or  even  mistress  of  the  last-named  instrument 
having  turned  up,  Jack's  banjo  and  declamations,  humor 
ous  and  otherwise,  furnished  out  the  "feast  of  reason  and 
flow  of  soul." 

The  affair  was  a  brilliant  success,  however,  and  was  so 
announced  in  the  "Times"  next  morning;  for  while  Van 
Waters,  the  editor,  couldn't  be  there,  the  city  editor — 
who,  by  the  way,  was  the  entire  "city  staff"  of  the  Times 
— was,  and  he  always  went  under  instructions  from  Van 

286298 


38  ST.  MOVADU 

Waters  to  "whoop  things  up,"  which  was  characteristic 
of  everything  pertaining  to  St.  Mcvadu  that  Van  Waters 
could  control.  His  paper  teemed  at  all  times  with  the 
resources  of  the  new  city  and  the  surrounding  region, 
and  being  a  really  metropolitan  looking  sort  of  a  journal, 
with  every  sign  of  prosperity,  it  went  to  the  four  winds, 
all  over  the  republic  and  to  numerous  other  places. 

The  people  of  St.  Movadu  were  proud  of  the  "Times." 
It  was  unanimously  admitted  by  them,  and  by  people  gen 
erally,  who  knew  anything  of  the  situation,  to  be  a  strong 
factor  in  the  up-building  of  the  new  city,  and  as  these 
city  builders  were  from  everywhere,  the  "Times"  was  sent 
everywhere  by  them  to  their  friends.  Thus  it  was  read 
with  avidity  in  many  a  far-away  nook  of  the  world,  and 
its  circulation  taxed  the  capacity  of  the  little  one-cylinder 
press,  -even  though  it  went  by  steam  in  the  day  time  and 
at  night  by  an  electric  motor  that  received  its  power  from 
the  dynamos  of  the  city  light  company. 

Jack  was,  of  course,  the  success  of  the  Westlake  en 
tertainment,  the  fame  of  which  went  abroad  in  the  new 
city.  The  judge  and  his  jolly  little  wife,  and  every  one 
else  present  who  had  elbow  room  sufficient  to  be  able  to 
do  so,  applauded  Jack  with  much  vigor  and  refreshing 


ST.  MOVADU  39 

sincerity,  and  Jack  was  as  proud  and  happy  as  it  is  possi 
ble  for  even  so  good-natured  a  fellow  to  be.  He  felt  that 
he  had  done  a  big  and  commendable  thing  in  lending 
eclat  to  the  first  society  event  of  the  new  city,  St.  Movadu. 
But  Jack  had  sown  the  whirlwind. 


CHAPTER  III. 
A  Church  Bell. 

And  thus  among  the  timbered  hills, 
Spires  and  homes  and  shops  and  mills, 
Have  risen  as  though  genii  hands 
Had  wrought  where  this  fair  city  stands. 

— A  Modern  Temple. 

To  children  the  performances  that  resulted  from  the 
occult  powers  of  Aladdin's  lamp  are  very  wonderful;  to 
grown-up  folks  they  are  only  amusing,  because,  to  use  a 
paradox,  they  were  really  mythical.  The  whole  thing 
was  only  a  story  of  the  marvelous. 

The  story  of  St.  Movadu  was  wonderful  in  truth. 
Nothing  like  it  has  ever  been  seen  on  the  earth.  Mining 
excitements,  or  something  of  that  nature,  have  frequently 
brought  suddenly  together  a  sufficient  number  of  people 
to  form  a  great  city,  so  far  as  population  was  concerned, 
but  those  settlements  were  called  "camps,"  and  indeed 
they  were  nothing  else,  frequently,  and  in  many  instances 
but  little  sign  of  them  was  left  after  a  few  months.  Some, 
however,  became  permanent  cities,  one  or  two  of  which 

(40) 


A  CHURCH  BELL  41 

have  gone  on  developing  and  have  become  places  of 
great  importance.  Such  for  instance  were  Denver  and 
Leadville,  Colorado,  the  former  of  which  was  a  result  of 
the  Pike's  Peak  gold  excitement,  the  latter  the  result  of 
the  silver  mines  of  California  Gulch.  Some  other  places 
that  grew  to  be  brick  and  stone  and  iron  cities,  from  such 
causes,  are  to-day  pathetic  in  their  quietude  and  help 
lessness. 

The  St.  Movadu  "boom"  was  not  a  result  of  any  of 
these  causes.  Indeed  it  was  not  strictly  a  "boom."  It 
was  a  "legitimate  proposition."  •  Its  rise  was  directly  the 
result  of  Newton  Morse's  enterprise,  and  his  ambition  to 
be  the  father  of  a  great  city.  He  exercised  all  the  care 
and  judgment  at  'his  control  in  the  selection  of  a  re 
sourceful  site,  and  to-day  it  occupies  the  ground  that  will 
yet  be  one  of  the  greatest  cities  of  the  world,  for  natural 
reasons.  In  this  connection  it  is  interesting  to  quote  from 
the  St.  Movadu  "Times,"  of  the  early  days,  what  its  editor 
thought  upon  the  subject  of  boom  towns,  and  from  one 
of  his  leaders  this  excerpt  is  made: 

"  'Self  praise  is  half  scandal'  is  a  trite  saying  that  deserves  more 
for  its  age  than  anything  else,  somewhat  on  the  principle  of  the 
law  of  custom,  which  gains  in  force  because  the  particular  cus- 


42  A  CHURCH  BELL 

torn  that  thus  became  a  law  existed  'from  a  time  whereof  the 
memory  of  man  runneth  not  to  the  contrary.'  These  be  different 
times  from  those  wherein  originated  the  cant  phrase,  'Self  praise 
is  half  scandal.'  Common  veracity  and  plain  candor  allow 
people  in  these  days  to  say  more  kindly  things  about  themselves. 
How  much  more  should  they  allow  people  to  say  kindly,  if 
truthful,  things  about  those  matters  in  which  they  have  material 
interest! 

"He  was  a  better  philosopher  who  invented  the  remark,  'He 
that  tooteth  not  his  own  horn,  the  same  shall  not  be  tooted.' 
yet  that  may  be  carried  to  a  degree  of  immodesty  as  the  first  may 
be  to  one  too  utterly  and  entirely  coy. 

"We  of  St.  Movadu  have  something  to  be  proud  of,  and  there 
is  no  call  for  us  to  go  out  and  hide  in  the  woods  in  order  to 
enjoy  that  pride.  We  have  a  wonderfully  growing  city,  equipped 
with  all  the  modern  accessories  and  auxilaries  for  still  more 
wonderful  and  rapid  growth. 

"Has  anyone  ever  before  heard  of  a  place  off  in  the  mightiest 
forest  where  in  the  sombre  shade  of  the  grandest  tree-growth 
on  earth  the  day-god  had  not  touched  the  soil  for  centuries; 
farthest  in  our  Union  from  the  centers  of  trade  and  population: 
farthest  from  railways,  with  not  even  a  wagon  track  approach 
ing — has  anyone  ever  heard  before  of  such  a  city  being  built  in 
such  a  space  of  time?  A- city  with  many  miles  of  streets  scat 
tered  over  probably  500  acres?  When  the  timber  has  been  mown 
as  with  some  Titan's  scythe?  Above  these  streets  mazes  of  tele- 


A  CHURCH  BELL  43 

graph,  telephone  and  electric  light  wires;  beneath  them  all  the 
complex  systems  of  pipe  and  conduit  for  water,  gas  and  sewer 
age?  Lines  of  railway,  north,  east  and  south,  connecting  the 
young  city  with  the  marts  of  the  world?  Daily,  by  dozens,  steam 
boats,  steamships,  ferries  and  sailing  craft,  touching  at  numer 
ous  costly  docks,  carrying  a  prolific  traffic  to  and  from  distant 
isles  and  to  lands  beyond  the  sea? 

"Let  those  who  know  nothing  of  this  smile  with  incredulity. 
That  is  only  natural.  And  let  those  who  dwell  in  places  that 
have  no  hope  of  increase  by  commercial  or  social  importance 
prate  of  'conservatism.'  That  is  their  disease.  And  let  them 
scream  in  their  feeble  way  about  'booms'  and  hold  up  their 
trembling  little  hands  in  alarm  thereat  and  deprecation  thereof. 
Let  them  if  it  does  them  any  good  entertain  themselves  with 
attempts  at  disparagement  of  young  cities  that,  like  ours,  have 
sprung  suddenly,  as  did  Minerva  from  the  head  of  Jove,  fully 
armed  and  equipped  for  duty.  It  is  a  little  custom  of  those 
'conservative'  places  to  speak  of  such  cities  as  St.  Movadu  as 
'boom  towns,'  the  very  rapidity  of  whose  growth  is  sought  to 
be  made  a  point  to  their  disadvantage  while  some  owlish  munici 
pality  is  pointed  to  as  a"  splendid  example  of  'steady  growth.' 

"This  'steady  growth'  in  anything  is  a  hoax.  There  are  ages 
in  children  when  their  growth  is  much  more  rapid  than  at  other 
periods  of  their  youth,  and  some  'develop'  much  earlier  in  life 
than  others.  Vegetation,  under  the  influence  of  sunshine  and 
shower,  reaches  maturity  more  rapidly  in  some  seasons  and 


44  A  CHURCH  BELL 

countries  than  in  others.  These  phenomena  are  due  to  natural 
causes  and  excite  no  comment,  while  the  operations  of  the  same 
principle  in  industrial  matters  brings  an  ignorant  protest  from 
those  not  affected. 

"The  'lambs'  that  have  been  shorn  in  'booms'  are  everywhere. 
So  are  the  unfortunates  who  have  failed  in  settled  communities, 
for  lack  of  ability,  tact,  enterprise  or  adaptability.  The  money 
lost  by  the  individual  has  generally  gone  into  public  improve 
ments. 

"There  are  'booms'  in  every  undertaking,  and  the  building  of 
towns  is  no  exception.  There  are  'booms'  in  politics,  'booms'  in 
music,  'booms'  in  art,  'booms'  in  education;  and  He  who  'Sways 
the  harmonious  mystery  of  the  universe  better  than  prime  min 
isters'  gave  to  Christian  history  its  Pentecost. 

"There  is  a  vast  deal  of  truth  in  this,  and  it  should  carry  much 
encouragement  to  many  who  need  it." 

St.  Movadu's  growth  was  astounding.  In  twelve 
months  from  the  day  that  Major  Stamina  set  his  men  to 
work  for  Newton  Morse  and  'his  associates,  clearing 
away  the  primeval  forest  at  Duncan's  Cove,  there  had 
grown  a  town  of  ten  thousand  inhabitants,  with  all  the 
adjuncts  and  accessories  of  a  city  much  greater  than  that, 
and  with  some  metropolitan  advantages  of  which  many 
great  cities  are  yet  unpossessed. 

During  that  time,  over  twenty-five  miles  of  wide  and 


A  CHURCH  BELL  45 

beautiful  streets  were  graded  and  paved,  excellent  sewer, 
water,  police  and  fire  protection  and  electric  street  rail 
way  systems  had  been  placed  in  operation.  The  city  was 
brilliantly  lighted  by  night  with  electric  lights  and  the 
places  of  business  and  hundreds  of  homes  were  supplied 
with  the  electric  incandescent  bulbs.  A  grand  hotel 
and  opera  house  were  among  the  public  buildings;  there 
were  clubs  and  lodges,  banks  and  school  houses,  some 
of  the  latter  imposing  in  dimensions  and  splendid  in 
architecture.  Massive  brick,  stone  and  iron  business 
houses  had  arisen  in  the  central  part  of  the  city  and  resi 
dences  that  were  palatial  in  structure  and  furnishing,  or 
namented  the  hillsides  and  crowned  their  tops.  Charm 
ing  lawns,  rich  in  verdure  and  teeming  with  beautiful 
flowers  surrounded  the  latter,  and  there  were  churches 
of  many  Christian  denominations.  Churches  that  would 
have  been  a  credit  to  the  old  cities  of  the  far  eastern 
states. 

The  first  place  of  worship  erected  in  the  young  city  was 
a  union  tabernacle  in  which  all  denominations  congre 
gated  for  public  devotions  to  the  one  God,  of  whom  even 
the  almost  heathen  have  devoutly  sung  "Allah  il  Allah." 


46  A  CHURCH  BELL 

There  is  no  God,  the  fool  had  said — 

The  ingrate  of  his  race — 
With  all  that's  good,  and  fair,  and  true, 

Outspread  before  his  face. 

"Allah  il  Allah,"  wise  men  say — 
v  God  is,  and  God  is  good; 

And  many  go  to  seek  Him  out 
By  ancient  faith  or  rood. 

The  Islam  takes  his  mountain  road, 
The  Brahm  his  desert  path, 

The  Christian  goes  with  cowl  and  staff 
To  face  the  tempest's  wrath. 

The  Turk,  the  Saracen  and  Moor, 

The  Afric  and  the  Hun, 
The  Roman,  Goth  and  Indian, 

To  find  the  One  bright  Sun. 

And  though  the  ways  of  all  diverge, 
Each  pilgrim  finds  the  goal; 

For  God  is  good,  and  everywhere, 
The  Substance  and  the  Whole. 

His  presence  spans  the  universe; 

All  paths  lead  on  to  Him. 
He  is  the  Sum  of  all  that  is — 

Duration's  length  and  limb. 


A  CHURCH  BELL  47 

And,  brothers,  tho'  as  blades  of  grass 

We  stand  together  here, 
We'll  meet  each  other  and  our  God 

In  His  Eternal  sphere. 

— The  Shriners. 

One  bright  Sunday  morning  the  rich,  deep  and  reso 
nant  peal  of  a  church  bell  rang  out  upon  the  clear  aarti 
fir-scented  air.  It  sang  cheerily  and  yet  grandly  amid 
the  mighty  woods.  The  rhythmic  tones  rolled  in  silver 
cadence  over  the  hills  and  gave  tongue  to  a  chime  of 
echoes  up  the  canyons  and  across  the  dancing  waters. 
Such  music  nature  had  never  heard  before  in  that  region. 
Pleasantly  it  startled  the  people.  The  dear  old  familiar 
sounds  seemed  to  come  from  away  back  home.  The  man 
of  the  house  looked  up  from  the  book  or  newspaper*  he 
was  reading;  the  good  wife  left  off  her  dishwashing  or  the 
buttoning  of  the  children's  Sunday  dresses;  the  children 
clapped  their  little  hands  in  delight;  the  housemaid  leaned 
pensively  on  her  broom ;  then  all  ran  to  the  windows  and 
doors.  The  whisky-mixer  in  the  saloon  held  suddenly 
still,  decanter  in  hand,  to  hear  the  sonorous  melody,  and 
the  toper  paused,  with  the  hell-broth  at  his  lips,  to  listen. 
The  young  city  was  charmed  for  a  moment,  and  then, 
Sunday  as  it  was,  men  rushed  from  their  homes  and 


48  A  CHURCH  BELL 

from  such  places  of  business  as  were  then  open  and 
shouted  with  a  strange  joy.  Then  there  was  a  spontane 
ous  and  heartfelt,  long-resounding  and  oft-repeated, 
"Hurrah  for  the  church  bell!" 

Jack  Lacy  caught  up  a  bundle  of  paper  bags  lying  on 
the  counter  of  Kingbury's  grocery,  within  whose  half- 
closed  doors  he  was  lounging,  and  dashed  off  in  dialect, 
a  rhythmic  song,  breathing  a  tune  to  it  as  he  wrote: 

Do  hear  that  bell  a  ringin' 

On  this  sunny  Sunday  mornin', 
It  sounds  like  angels  singin' 

A  kind  and  gentle  warnin' — 

Singin'  a  sweet  warnin' — 

To  the  sinners  all  aroun' 
Beside  the  music  in  it, 

With  its  clear  and  silv'ry  soun', 
\ 

It's  the  first  church  bell  that  ever  rung 
To  call  these  sinners  down. 

Ain't  it  good  to  hear  it — 

That  clear  and  silv'ry  soun' — 
That  bell  a  ringin'  out  so  sweet 

The  first  one  in  the  town? 

The  tall  pines  done  the  singin' 
Just  a  little  while  ago, 


A  CHURCH  BELL  49 

An'  the  vines  were  thick  an'  clingin' 

From  the  gray  beach  down  below, 

Where  the  waters  ebb  and  flow. 

To  where  the  snow  is  gleamin' 
Far  up  at  timber  line. 

Then  the  woods  were  little  dreamin' 
That  the  church  bells  here  should  ring, 

When  Sunday's  sun  was  streamin*. 

But  ain't  it  good  to  hear  it— 
That  clear  and  silv'ry  soun' — 

That  church  bell  ringin'  out  so  sweet, 
The  first  one  in  the  town. 

When  the  tabernacle  was  the  only  church  of  the  em 
bryo  city,  the  services  were  more  unconventional,  the 
worship  was  more  sincere,  the  singing  was  more  en 
thusiastic.  There  was  a  whole-heartedness  in  it  all  that 
has  gone  somewhere.  But  it  is  not  lost.  It  is,  perhaps, 
scattered  among  the  isms,  but  the  All-Seeing  Eye  can 
place  every  iota  and  atom  of  it.  For  while  Charity  sits 
estranged  among  the  silks  and  velvets,  the  rich  odors  and 
the  brilliant  lights;  the  sham  and  show  of  the  great 
church;  meek  and  modest,  prayerful  and  unassuming, 
Charity  is  there.  The  leaven  that  lighteneth;  the  piety 
and  purity  that  saves  the  church  from  its  load  of  hypoc- 


50  A  CHURCH  BELL 

risy  and  deceit,  is  there,  engrafting  it  with  the  true  re 
ligion  that  was  erst  of  the  old  tabernacle,  and  its  kind. 
Sweet  Charity,  "without  which  all  is  as  sounding  brass 
and  a  tinkling  cymbal,"  is  the  saving  salt  of  it  all. 

In  the  tabernacle  only  those  were  seen,  most  of  the 
time, 'who  went  on  duty  bent,  and  yet  the  congregation 
was  a  large  one. 

True,  all  those  that  attended  these  services  were  not 
professing  Christians,  for  there  were  many  who,  like  Jack 
Lacy,  had  glaring  faults,  but  who  also  like  him,  had  the 
redeeming  qualities  of  reverence  for  holy  things,  candor 
and  openness  of  character;  every-day  integrity  and  honor; 
truthfulness,  humanity,  courage  and  fidelity;  full  of  grat 
itude  and  hateful  of  affected  precisiveness  and  shallow 
ostentation;  who  knew  they  were  not  as  good  as  they 
should  be,  but  who  did  not  make  pretence  on  Sundays, 
and  cheat  their  neighbors  when  opportunity  afforded  on 
week  days;  men  and  women  who  often  prayed  in  secret, 
admitting  their  sins  at  all  times  in  their  hearts,  yet  hope 
ful,  notwithstanding  that  the  prayers  of  the  righteous  are 
those  that  avail  the  most. 

Pha/riseeism  did  not  belong  in  the  tabernacle.  True 
piety  and  acknowledged  sin  foregathered  there,  for  de- 


A  CHURCH  BELL  51 

votion  by  the  one  and  confession  by  the  other.  Yet  there 
were  some  who  were  between  both  of  these. 

They  meant  well. 

It  was  a  rich,  full  and  sweet  contralto  voice  in  the 
congregational  singing  one  moonlit  Sabbath  evening,  in 
the  tabernacle  days,  that  helped  to  fill  Jack  Lacy's  heart 
with  the  pure  pleasure  of  the  meeting,  and  he  traced 
the  velvet  tones  to  their  source.  What  a  modest  yet 
strong  and  earnest  mouth  it  was;  what  a  shapely  little 
head  and  what  glorious  melting  brown  eyes  the  singer 
had;  how  neat  and  tidy  and  quiet  the  dress;  how  easily 
poised  and  self-possessed  seemed  the  figure  that  was  the 
abode  of  all  this. 

Dr.  Price  and  Jack  Lacy  were  excellent  friends.  Jack 
knew  how  good  and  true  and  earnest  and  sensible  the 
preacher  was,  and  the  preacher  knew  that  Jack  was  far 
better  than  many  of  his  betters — strange  as  that  may 
seem —  and  he  admired  Jack's  manliness  far  more  than 
he  did  the  goody-goodness  of  some  others  of  his  flock. 
Besides  Jack  was  helpful.  He  was  fond  of  helping  any 
where  that  he  possibly  could,  and  he  was  particularly 
fond  of  being  helpful  to  the  tabernacle  and  its  promoters, 
especially  the  preacher. 


52  A  CHURCH  BELL 

The  house  needed  an  organized  choir  to  better  lead 
the  singing,  and  to  sometimes  even  give  a  concerted 
number,  and  Jack  was  on  the  lookout  for  talent  for  this 
organization. 

Forthwith  he  confided  to  Dr.  Price  his  earnest  and 
immutable  opinion  that  the  choir  could  never  be  success 
fully  established  without  that  particular  voice  and  the 
sage  old  preacher  smilingly  and  readily  agreed  that 
Jack's  declaration  was  on  the  firmest  foundation. 

There  and  then — that  is  to  say  at  the  close  of  the 
service — through  the  kind  instrumentality  of  Dr.  Price, 
Mr.  Lacy  became  duly,  properly  and  ceremoniously  ac 
quainted  with  the  possessor  of  the  voice,  Miss  Ada 
Benson.  But  Jack  was  not  a  gentleman  who  was  in 
clined  to  stand  any  serious  length  of  time  upon  ceremony 
or  anything  else  that  presented  the  character  of  an  ob 
stacle.  He  proceeded  at  once  to  unfold  his  plans,  as  to 
the  choir,  to  Miss  Benson,  and  coolly  asked  the  privilege 
of  walking  home  with  her  in  order  that  they  might  fur 
ther  discuss  the  matter  during  the  stroll. 

The  distance  from  the  church  to  where  the  young  lady 
resided  was  cruelly  short  to  Jack  Lacy,  and  as  he  had  a 
capacity  for  entertaining  young  ladies,  conversationally, 


A  CHURCH  BELL  53 

that  was  one  of  the  most  suddenly  apparent  of  his  many 
accomplishments,  Miss  Benson  found  the  walk  an  ex 
ceedingly  agreeable  one,  and  she  quite  enthusiastically 
entered  into  Jack's  plans  regarding  the  musical  organ 
ization.  Jack  agreed  to  enlist  some  other  desirable  per 
sons  for  the  corps,  and  it  was  agreed  that  the  entire  body, 
or  such  portions  of  it  that  could  be  controlled,  should 
meet  in  the  parlor,  on  the  following  Wednesday  evening, 
at  Mr.  Dawson's  residence,  where  Miss  Benson  was 
boarding,  that  young  lady  undertaking  to  gain  the  con 
sent  of  the  Dawson  proprietorship  to  that  end. 

This  matter  having  been  settled  at  some  length  by  -the 
conspiring  parties,  and  the  door  of  the  Daiwson  establish 
ment  having  been  reached  some  minutes  earlier,  the 
propriety  of  withdrawing  finally  dawned  upon  the  some 
what  reluctant  perception  of  Mr.  Lacy,  who  trudged 
homeward  filled  to  the  brim  with  refreshingly  pleasant 
emotions. 

And  Mr.  Lacy  turned  over  a  whole  chapter  of  new 
leaves. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Ada  Benson. 

With  all  we  get  of  life,  or  fame,  or  gold, 
Existence  here  is  dark,  and  sad  and  cold, 
Without  that  light  and  blessing  from  above, 
One  sweet  and  trusting  earnest  woman's  love. 

— More  Than  All. 

Orphaned  in  early  childhood,  Ada  Benson  had  been 
taken  to  an  Indiana  village  and  brought  up  there  by  a 
maternal  uncle,  who,  though  possessed  of  a  fairly  pros 
perous  business  in  "general  merchandising"  on  a  scale 
not  considered  gigantic  even  in  that  village,  was  also 
possessed  of  a  family  so  laige  as  to  be  somewhat  dis 
proportionate  to  his  income.  But  his  wife  was  a  kindly 
creature  who  managed  with  economical  care  the  domes 
tic  affairs  of  their  modest  establishment,  and  Ada's  life 
had  been  a  pleasant  one,  though  commonplace  enough. 

While  endowed  with  unusual  beauty  and  more  than 
average  intelligence,  she  was  of  a  quiet  and  gentle  nature 
and  had  been  without  opportunity  to  prove  to  others 
particularly  interested  in  such  matters,  a  somewhat  re- 

(54) 


ADA  BENSON  55 

markable  musical  talent,  and  hence  had  not  entirely  ap 
preciated  herself. 

Her  musical  instruction  had  been  confined  to  the  lim 
ited  advantages  of  the  village  school,  in  that  b/anch,  so 
far  as  the  piano  was  concerned,  and  the  vocal  part  of  it 
to  the  supposed-to-be-concerted  singing  of  her  fellow 
students,  the  congregational  singing,  and  chants  of  the 
little  Episcopal  church  in  which  she  had  been  christened 
after  her  orphanage,  and  in  which  she  had  been  con 
firmed  at -the  proper  age. 

In  the  village  school  she  had  also  obtained  such  an 
education  as  that  institution  afforded,  which  was  -alto 
gether  considerable,  seeing  that  she  had  easily  "gradu 
ated"  as,  by  all  odds,  the  most  satisfactory  pupil  of  the 
school. 

This,  with  the  fund  of  religious  information,  obtained 
through  the  curriculum  of  the  Sunday  school,  including 
the  Book  of  Common  Prayer,  with  its  memorized  creed, 
catechism,  litany,  collects,  morning  and  evening  service, 
and  many  of  the  hymns  and  psalms,  with  all  the  acces 
sory  instruction  of  the  church  training,  had  really 
equipped  Ada  Benson  far  better  than  many  young  ladies 


56  ADA  BENSON 

are  who  go  through  the  "polishing"  processes  of  semi 
naries  and  alleged  female  colleges  and  universities. 

Yet  her  little  world  had  been  so  circumscribed  that 
when  the  death  of  her  uncle  came,  during  Ada's  eight- 

• 

eenth  year,  and  it  became  necessary  for  her  to  earn  her 
living  alone,  she  was  startled.  While  it  did  not  appall 
her,  for  she  had  a  stout  heart,  she  was  not  possessed  of 
the  confidence  that  her  abilities  and  attainments  should 
have  given  her.  She  had  never  been  called  upon  to  cal 
culate  \vhat  they  were  as  compared  to  those  of  many  other 
girls  who  have  been  confronted  by  such  a  condition  of 
affairs  as  was  now  before  her. 

Her  friend,  the  old  rector,  who  had  christened  her  and 
who  had  tenderly  watched  her  in  his  lambfold  until 
the  bis/hop  had  come  to  place  her  among  the  full-grown 
sheep  of  the  flock,  advised  her  when  the  day  came  that 
demanded  her  self-reliance,  to  take  a  place  that  he  pro 
cured  for  her  as  a  teacher  in  the  schools^  of  a  neighboring 
town,  and  cheerfully,  though  with  some  trepidation,  she 
entered  upon  her  work  and  succeeded. 

After  nearly  two  years,  in  which  she  had  been  so  suc 
cessful  as  a  teacher  as  to  astonish  herself,  she  accepted  a 
place  that  had  been  offered  by  an  old  friend  of  her  pastor, 


ADA  BENSON  57 

as  an  assistant  in  one  of  the  schools  of  the  far  distant 
west.  • 

Thus  fate  and  fortune  led  her  to  St.  Movadu. 

After  one  has  got  along  in  years  and  has  provided 
himself  with  a  domestic  aggregation,  he  will  frequently 
see  and  observe  such  girls  as  Ada  Benson  and  wonder 
what  sort  of  fools  the  young  fellows  must  be  who  allow 
them  to  go  so  much  alone,  or  even  permit  them  to  con 
tinue  along  in  years  until  they  have  grown  into  that  ab 
normal  and  somewhat  uncertain  state,  the  general  de 
scription  of  which  is  "old  maidenhood." 

But  as  knowing  as  these  old  fellows  are  supposed  to 
be,  and  as  they  more  frequently  think  themselves,  they 
are  not  always  entirely  informed  as  to  the  causes  of  this 
supposed  to  be  undesirable  situation  of  spinsterhood. 
Sometimes  it  comes  on  before  the  coquette  has  taken 
second  thought  of  the  danger;  sometimes,  but  very  sel 
dom,  through  the  obtuseness  of  the  young  fools  alluded 
to.  More  frequently  it  is  the  deliberate  good  judgment  of 
the  lady  in  question,  who  is  more  observant,  perhaps, 
than  the  old  fellow  is.  She  wisely  concludes  that  it  is 
better  to  be  a  respectable  old  maid  than  to  be  the  cook 
who  prepares  the  meals  of  the  shiftless  young  fellow, 


58  ADA  BENSON 

the  nurse  to  his  children,  the  laundry  woman  of  his  un 
comfortable  household  and  the  general  drudge  of  his 
more  or  less  squalid  and  peripatetic  establishment. 

In  those  young  days  of  St.  Movadu,  however,  there 
was  no  good  reason  to  berate  the  young  fellows  for  lack 
of  attention  to  Ada.  Young  ladies  were  exceedingly 
scarce  by  comparison  and  there  were  numerous  attempts 
at  tender  attention  to  Ada.  That  young  lady  was  not  to 
be  snapped  up,  however,  as  a  mere  result  of  an  exigency, 
and  had  young  ladies  been  even  so  plentiful  as  old  maids 
in  the  place  from  whence  male  immigration  had  streamed 
toward  the  west,  she  had  not,  up  to  the  time  of  Jack 
Lacy's  advent  into  her  acquaintance,  been  overwhelmed 
with  the  peculiar  and  particular  desirability  of  special 
male  company  or  even  a  great  deal  of  it,  generally  and 
sporadically,  so  to  speak.  Nor  was  she  even  so  sus 
ceptible  as  to  become  suddenly  and  -irretrievably  over 
come  by  the  blandishments  of  the  versatile  Mr.  Lacy. 
Yet  she  was  greatly  pleased  with  that  debonair  young 
gentleman  to  the  extent  of  her  knowledge  of  him,  which, 
it  must  be  admitted,  was,  fortunately  for  him,  quite  mea 
gre  at  that  juncture.  - 

Jack  was.  much  the  other  way  in  the  matter  of  sus- 


ADA  BENSON  59 

ceptibility,  and  as  it  is  partly  the  motive  of  these  chron 
icles  to  puncture  shams,  and  to  do  something  in  the  way 
of  iconoclasm  among  trite  old  sayings,  unwarranted  but 
general  conclusions,  and  a  great  deal  of  unfounded  be- 
lief,  it  may  be  just  as  well  to  say  right  here  that  it  does 
not  always  follow,  because  one  becomes  easily  attached 
to,  or  fond  of  another,  that  this  necessarily  implies 
fickleness. 

On  the  contrary,  quite  the  reverse. 

Persons  of  an  affectionate  disposition  are  nearly  always 
the  most  faithful.  Besides  if  they  do  not  easily  become 
attached  and  give  plain  exhibitions  cf  their  fondness  how 
can  it  be  known  that  they  are  affectionate? 

When  affectionate,  or  let  it  be  said,  susceptible  people, 
find  that  the  objects  of  their  fondness  are  unworthy,  then 
it  would  be  reprehensible  in  them  to  continue  such  at 
tachments,  and  to  relinquish  them  should  not  be  regarded 
as  fickleness. 

Jack  was  both  susceptible  and  faithful.  He  had  loved 
quite  a  number  of  girls  in  his  brief  career,  but  when  he 
failed,  after  the  most  diligent  investigation,  to  discover 
any  symptoms  of  reciprocity,  he  was  thoroughly  capable, 


60  ADA  BENSON 

vrithout  disastrous  results  to  himself,  of  foregoing  quest  or 

explanation. 

Indeed,  it  was  a  frequent  remark  from  Jack,  when  up 
braided  for  what  seemed,  sometimes,  to  be  a  lack  of 
tenacity  on  his  part,  particularly  in  business  ventures,  that 
he  knew  "when  to  let  go."  . 

This  is  a  quality  of  discriminative  sapience  that  is  more 
infrequent  than  might,  prima  facie,  be  supposed.  Though 
many  persons  have,  in  many  ways,  found  it  more  difficult 
to  let  go  than  it  was  to  take  hold. 

This  has  often  occurred  in  the  matter  of  real  estate 
holdings  in  boom  towns,  and  a  remarkable  case  of  the 
same  kind  is  illustrated  in  a  story  of  a  man  who  once,  by 
some  means,  got  hold  of  an  indignant  and  very  active 
bear  by  his  exceedingly  brief  tail. 

Let  it  not  be  understood  that  Jack  Lacy  became  enam 
ored  of  eligible  young  ladies  in  an  infatuous  and  pur 
poseless  sort  of  way,  notwithstanding  that  it  had  often 
been  in  a  manner  apparently  lacking  calculation  as  to 
results.  He  had  indeed  exhibited  most  commendable 
taste,  invariably,  and  he  was  sufficiently  a  philosopher 
not  to  reprehend  the  taste  of  those  young  ladies  who  had 
rejected  his  ardent  and  eloquent  advances.  Yet  he  had 


ADA  BENSON  61 

always  been  possessed  of  an  abiding  faith  that  if  one  of 
them  had  been  more  lenient  and  had  accepted  his  offers 
to  their  legitimate  culmination,  she  would  have  done  a 
good  thing  for  him  and  perhaps  for  herself  and  society 
generally. 

"Nil  desperandum,"  was  Jack's  unexpressed  motto  in 
the  matter,  however,  and  he  felt  with  regard  to  his  nu 
merous  sorties,  reconnoitres,  advances  and  charges  upon 
the  citadel  of  love,  that  vain  as  they  had  been  heretofore 
the  result  must  be  in  his  favor  at  last,  for  he  believed  that 
if  all  things  come  to  those  who  wait,  something  must 
also,  eventually,  be  reached  by  him,  who  doesn't  wait, 
but  rather  goes  after  it. 

His  earnestness  in  the  matter  of  organizing  the  choir 
had  been  reinforced  by  the  advantages  that  apparently 
must  accrue  to  him  in  his  latest  and  present  case  of 
partiality.  So  he  had  labored  diligently  among  those  in 
and  out  of  his  acquaintance  who  had  exhibited  capacity 
for  vocalization,  or  even  premonitory  symptoms  of  song 
power. 

Thus  it  was,  that  on  the  Wednesday  evening  ap 
pointed,  a  sufficient  multitude  of  persons  had  foregath 
ered  in  Mr.  Dawson's  parlors  to  not  only  organize  a 


62  ADA  BENSON 

choir  for  the  tabernacle,  so  far  as  numbers  were  con 
cerned,  but  to  have  provided  a  chorus  for  a  carnival,  had 
the  voices  all  been  favorable  to  the  numbers  in  another 
sense. 

Jack  had  endeavored  not  to  exhibit  any  partiality  in 
his  choice  of  people,  and  had  also  provided  for  the  pos 
sible,  and  even,  as  he  supposed,  probable,  absence  of  that 
usually  unknown  element  which  is  generally  more  full  of 
promise  than  practice. 

But  this  recruiting  agent  had  overlooked  one  char 
acteristic  of  humanity,  in  such  places  and  under  such  cir 
cumstances.  He  had  overlooked  the  more  or  less  exist 
ent  predilection  of  the  average  individual  who  harbors  a 
conviction  that  he  can  sing,  to  try  it  on  the  public. 

Thus  Mr.  Lacy  had  created  a  quandary.  To  select 
six  or  eight  persons,  out  of  a  possible  twenty,  as  desirable 
factors  in  a  singing  corps,  without,  in  the  act  of  prefer 
ence,  making  the  matter  an  invidious  affair,  was  some 
thing  as  puzzling  as  the  trouble  of  Agamemnon  from 
among  the  Grecian  heroes. 

So  it  came  about  that  Jack  and  Ada  must  lay  their 
heads  together,  and  though  this  was  to  be  only  a  meta 
phorical  recumbence,  simply  indicative  of  a  more  or  less 


ADA  BENSON  63 

confidential  consultation  and  consideration,  it  entirely 
compensated  for  the  quandary,  as  to  Jack,  who  would 
have  been  equal  to  unnecessarily  delaying  the  proceed 
ings.  Hence  he  was  intentionally  bereft  of  his  usual 
fruitfulness  and  ingenuity  of  resource  on  the  subject  in 
hand,  to  a  shameful  degree. 

It  was  finally  agreed,  however,  that  Dr.  Price  should 
publicly  explain  the  situation  and  the  persons  should 
choose  by  election,  after  all  the  voices  had  been  tried  in 
sextets,  which  of  the  sextets  should  be  the  choir. 

The  result  of  this  was  that  Dr.  Price  arranged  the 
party  into  five  companies,  he  sagely  choosing  from  those 
he  knew  tt)  be  the  best — or  rather  the  least  reprehensible 
— of  the  singers  and  placing  them  in  the  sextet  with  Miss 
Benson  and  Mr.  Lacy. 

That  sextet  was  immediately  and  unanimously  chosen, 
amid  much  hilarity,  for  if  there  is  one  thing  more  than 
another  that  makes  glad  the  heart  of  the  average  Amer 
ican,  it  is  an  election. 

Then  the  good  pastor,  with  pardonable,  even  excusable 
pseudology,  commented  in  the  most  gratifying  way  upon 
the  alleged  fact  that  it  was  a  great  pity  all  could  not  be 
long  to  the  choir,  but  consoled  himself,  and  through 


64  ADA  BENSON 

himself  the  congregation  of  the  tabernacle,  that  the  serv 
ices  would  be  made  more  delightful  by  having  so  many 
such  superior  voices  in  the  general  praise  by  song. 

For  this  latter  he  had  great  good  warrant,  so  to  speak, 
inasmuch  as  praise  of  the  Great  Giver  is  commendable, 
whether  it  be  in  perfect  vocalization  or  in  the  strident 
tones  of  a  fractured  register. 

The  choir  became  a  joy  to  Jack,  whether  or  not  it  was 
to  the  congregation  of  the  tabernacle  and  others  within 
hearing  of  its  well-intended  efforts.  It  seemed,  however, 
to  give  widespread  satisfaction  and  was  highly  corn- 
mended,  not  only  by  the  public  but  by  the  press  of  St. 
Movadu. 

There  was  one  kind  of  harmony  in  it,  at  least. 


CHAPTER  V. 

A  Confession. 

No  troubadour  in  days  of  yore, 

E'er  sang  in  accents  free 
A  song  so  sweet  at  love's  fair  feet, 

As  I  would  sing  to  thee. 

— Geraldine. 

"Have  you  ever  heard  anything  bad  about  me,  Miss 
Ada?"  said  Mr.  Jack  Lacy  to  Miss  Ada  Benson,  one 
evening,  as  he  was  seeing  her  home  from  a  choir  meeting 
at  the  tabernacle. 

"Oh  yes,  I  have  heard  ever  so  many  awful  things 
about  you,"  she  replied. 

"What  were  they?" 

"It  would  shock  you  if  I  told." 

"No,  indeed,  nothing  would  shock  me  that  was  said  of 
myself,  unless  I  feared  it  might  depreciate  me  in  your 
estimation." 

Jack  was  not  growing  tender,  he  was  simply  about  to 
expose  some  of  his  tenderness. 

He  was  always  gentle,  in  his  normal  condition,  but 

(65) 


* 
66  A  CONFESSION 

positively  tigerish  when  aroused  by  indignation. 

Besides  matters  had  been  progressing  delightfully  be 
tween  Mr.  Lacy  and  Miss  Benson.  He  had  been  estab 
lished  in  the  "Miss  Ada"  stage  for  some  time,  and  she  in 
the  "Mr.  Jack,"  by  mutual  request,  and  that  in  itself  was 
quite  significant.  Besides  the  preference  of  these  two 
for  each  other's  society  had  become  so  plain  that  the 
other  people,  who  always,  everywhere,  feel  it  their  duty 
to  note  and  comment  upon  such  affairs,  had  noted  and 
were  commenting. 

"You  do  me  great  honor,  Mr.  Jack;"  she  said  in  re 
sponse  to  his  last  remark,  "but  you  should  really  culti 
vate  more  self-esteem,"  she  smilingly  continued. 

"I'm  going  to  do  all  sorts  of  self-cultivation  now," 
Jack  returned,  and  the  "now"  bore  a  world  of  meaning. 
"But  I  do  want  to  know  all  the  bad  things  you  have 
heard  of  me,  and  then  I  will  know  best  what  to  alter. 
Won't  you  tell  me?"  he  pleaded. 

"Why,  yes;  I  am  told  that  you  do  not  care  enough  for 
yourself;  that  you  are  at  the  beck  and  call  of  any  one 
who  solicits  your  help;  that  you  are  too  good-hearted,  in 
rhort.  These  are  awful  things  to  have  said  about  you, 
ain't  they?" 


A  CONFESSION  67 

"Do  you  think  so?" 

"No,  Mr.  Jack.  I  don't  think  any  one  can  possibly  be 
too  helpful,  or  too  good-hearted.  But  really  I  have  heard 
these  things  said  of  you  in  a  deprecatory  way." 

"Well,  they  are  correct  in  a  certain  sense.  But  I  do 
very  little  in  the  way  of  helping  anybody.  I  haven't  got 
anything  to  help  them  with,  besides  there  are  no  very 
poor  people  here.  There  is  one  thing  I  do,  however,  too 
much,  and  -that  is  what  these  talkers  probably  allude 
to—" 

"I  know;  you  give  your  services  to  everything  in  the 
nature  of  an  entertainment  that  is  gotten  up  for  the  bene 
fit  of  this  or  that  end — " ' 

"I  make  myself  common,  you  mean." 

"Yes,  if  you  choose  to  put  it  that  way." 

"Well,  that  was  what  I  was  thinking  of  when  you 
mentioned  my  helping  everything." 

"But  it  is  not  only  that,  Mr.  Jack,  you — oh,  what  an 
arraignment  I  am  making  of  you." 

"Go  on;  I  like  it." 

"Why?" 

"Because  it  shows  you  take  some  interest  in  me." 

"You  flatter  yourself,"  s'he  naively  said. 


68  A  CONFESSION 

"Yes,  I'm  given  to  that." 

"You  are  candid." 

"Yes,  now  go  on  with  your  arraignment." 

"I  am  told  you  sit  up  with  sick  people  whom  you 
never  knew  until  they  were  taken  down;  that  you — oh, 
you  do  all  sorts  of  things  like  that." 

"Perhaps  that  is  true,  but  then  I  like  it." 

"I  am  glad  you  do.  It  speaks  volumes  for  you,  but 
gratitude  is  so  scarce." 

"Bread  upon  the  waters." 

"I  have  not  had  much  experience,  but  somehow  it 
seems  that  bread  upon  the  waters  doesn't  come  back  just 
when  one  is  the  hungriest." 

"I  have  noticed  that  myself.  But  you  have  not  men 
tioned  the  bad  things  about  me  that  I  was  afraid  you  had 
heard,  and  such  things  are  always  worse  in  appearance 
when  they  come  second-handed.  May  I  tell  you?" 

"I  would  rather  hear  you  tell  bad  things  of  yourself 
than  to  listen  to  anyone  else  on  that  subject.  But  if  they 
are  too  bad  I'd — well — I'd — rather  not  hear  them  at  all." 

Jack's  heart  gave  a  great  leap  in  delight. 

"That  is  inexpressibly  kind  of  you,  Miss  Ada,  but  you 
will  hear  the  things  of  which  I  am  going  to  speak,  and  I 


A  CONFESSION  69 

would  like  to  prepare  you  for  them,  Ada — may  I  not  say 
Ada?" 

"Yes,"  she  softly  replied. 

"I  would  like  to  tell  you  a  story  about  myself.  I  am 
frightfully  egotistical." 

"I  would  be  delighted  to  hear  it." 

They  had  arrived  at  the  Dawson  home,  where  Miss 
Benson  had  become  almost  as  one  of  the  family.  The 
evening  was  one  of  St.  Movadu's  best — an  evening  in 
June  following  a  day  as  warm  as  ever  known  in  the 
Puget  Sound  region,  and  that  is  not  warmer  than  many 
days  in  early  spring  elsewhere  in  the  United  States,  near 
the  same  latitude.  The  gibbous  moon  rode  high  in  the 
exalted  heavens,  with  now  and  then  a  fleecy  cloud  pass 
ing  like  a  thin  veil  across  her  face.  The  stars  that  look 
twice  the  size  they  do  as  seen  from  elsewhere,  seemed 
glad  and  neighborly,  and  there  was  a  gentle  breeze  from 
the  broad  bay  that  came  over  Duncan's  Cove  and  up  the 
hillside  to  the  Dawson  house  and  on. 

A  wide  portico  that  extended  the  length  of  the  house's 
front  and  some  rustic  seats,  chairs  and  settees  were  there, 
and  a  table.  The  hall  door  stood  wide  open  and  electric 
lights  illuminated  that  and  the  drawing  room,  and  there 


70  A  CONFESSION 

were  lights  in  other  apartments  of  the  residence,  but  none 

of  the  household  seemed  astir. 

Jack  and  Ada  passed  through  the  gate  and  up  the 
walk  and  the  few  steps  that  led  to  the  portico,  and  stood 
for  a  moment  or  two  entranced  with  the  scene  below 
them.  They  looked  over  the  terraces  of  houses  that 
stood  along  the  lower  streets;  over  the  roofs  and  chim 
neys,  down  to  the  shimmering  waters  of  the  bay, 
where  the  path  of  light  danced  beneath  the  moon  from 
the  inner  shore  of  the  cove,  out  between  the  caulks  of 
the  horse-shoe  and  across  the  bay  to  the  wooded  shores 
beyond. 

"Isn't  it  beautiful?"  she  said. 

"It  makes  me  feel  mean,"  he  laughed.  "In  all  the 
varying  moods  of  these  grand  sights  that  I  have  seen  I 
have  always  been  tempted  to  write  about  them." 

"Is  that  mean?"  she  asked  with  feigned  astonishment. 

"Poetry." 

"Oh!" 

"But  some  day  I  will  write  poetry." 

"I  am  sure  you  write  poetry  now." 

"Doggerel.  Yet  I  know  that  I  have  poetry  in  me,  but 
it  is  so  difficult  to  get  it  out.  I  often  feel  for  the  muses, 


A  CONFESSION  71 

• 

they  are  towsled  about  so  much  by  well-meaning 
people  and  with  so  little  good  effect — me  among  the 
others." 

"You  are  young  yet,  Mr.  Jack,  and  I  shall  wait  pa 
tiently  for  you." 

He  almost  caught  her  in  his  arms  as  he  said: 

"If  you  only  would." 

"Yes,  I  shall  wait  patiently  for  you  to  write  some  great 
poetry  and  win  fame  in  that  glorious  art.  But  now, 
what  was  this  story  of  yourself  that  you  were  going  to 
tell  me?" 

"It  was  not  for  the  sake  of  talking  about  myself,  Ada, 
but  as  some  defense  of  my  character  and  certain  short 
comings." 

"I  think  I  know,"  she  said,  with  charming  tenderness, 
peculiarly  charming  to  Mr.  Jack  Lacy.  "Please  don't 
apologize." 

"It  is  this,  Ada.  I  was  brought  up  in  the  south,  came 
of  an  old  southern  family,  and  the  surroundings  of  my 
youth  were  full  of  sentiment,  almost  romance,  and  I 
sometimes  think  I  am  Quixotic  in  many  ways.  I  cer 
tainly  believe  in  the  existence  of  chivalry  and  am  dis 
posed  to  fight  a  great  many  wrongs  that  perhaps  I  ex- 


72  A  CONFESSION 

i 

aggerate,  so  far  at  least  as  they  affect  me,  which  they 
would  not  at  all  if  I  chose,  to  ignore  them.  Thus  I  have 
sometimes  got  a  black  eye  from  a  windmill.  Among  the 
people  of  my  class,  where  I  was  raised,  courtesy  and 
kindness  and  truth  prevailed,  and  it  was  rare  that  any 
one  ever  said  anything  or  did  anything  calculated  to 
wound  the  feelings  of  another,  unless  it  was  done  in 
anger  or  by  an  open  enemy.  Sarcasm  was  unknown  be 
tween  associates. 

"A  man  who  behaved  himself  and  kept  clean  was  re 
garded  an  honest  and  honorable  gentleman  until  he 
proved  to  be  the  contrary  by  some  overt  act,  or  a  covert 
one  that  was  discovered.  I  have  found  a  great  deal  of 
the  contrary  prevailing  in  many  other  regions  where  I 
have  been,  and  I  have  found  that  one  is  generally  con 
sidered  untrustworthy  until  he  proves  the  contrary." 

"A  strange  sort  of  civilization,"  Ada  interjected. 

"Yes,  but  those  of  my  sex  who  find  fault  with  it  and 
resent  it  when  affected  by  it  are  charged  with  being  super- 
sensitive."  Jack  was  evidently  beating  about  the  bush. 

"I  don't  know  exactly  why  I  mentioned  these  things 
to  you,  Ada,"  he  continued.  "They  are  not  what  I 
started  to  say." 


A  CONFESSION  73 

Then,  with  an  effort,  he  plunged  into  the  matter  he 
desired  to  explain. 

"\  ne  fact  is,  Ada,  I  have  one  great  fault — or  have  had 
— 'that  I  feared  you  might  have  heard  of." 

She  watched  him  closely  and  listened  attentively. 

"My  associates  were  exceedingly  social  and  convivial 
in  youth,  and  from  them  I  acquired  a  habit  6f  drinking 
intoxicants,  and  not  believing  that  I  was  endangering 
myself  I  continued  at  it  until  two  or  three  years  ago, 
when  I  found  that  I  was  doing  my  physical  self,  my 
character  and  my  opportunities  in  life  much  violence, 
and  determined  to  stop  it.  I  did  stop  it,  and  then  I 
found  myself  struggling  against  an  appetite  that  had 
grown  exceedingly  strong.  I  fought  it  manfully,  how 
ever.  But  now  and  then  under  the  influence  of  some  un- 

• 
usual  excitement,  extraordinary  occasion,  or  the  worry 

that  exorcised  sensitiveness  has  produced,  I  have  given 
away  to  that  appetite  and  have  drank  too  much.  Some 
times  disgracefully  too  much,  so  far  as  my  own  dignity, 
self-respect,  business  affairs  and  a  desirable  reputation  for 
steadiness  are  concerned. 

"It  was  that,  that  I  was  afraid  you  had  heard  of,  Ada. 
It  was  this  that  I  felt  more  uneasiness  about  than 


74  A  CONFESSION 

thing  else.  And  I  have  thought  more  of  it  since  I  have 
had  the  pleasure  of  your  acquaintance  than  ever  before  in 
my  life." 

"But  now  when  you  see  it  so  plain,  you  will  guard 
yourself  against  k  more  closely,  will  you  not?" 

"Indeed  I  will,  for  your  sake,  Ada." 

"No,  for.your  own  sake,  and  those  who  love  you — your 
mother  and  sisters,  for  yourself  and  all  your  friends." 

"But  won't  you  be  one  of  them?"  he  pleaded. 

"I  am  a  deeply  interested  friend  of  yours,  Mr.  Jack." 

"Won't  you  be  more,  Ada?"  he  said,  rising  and  taking 
both  her  hands,  "I  believe  that  if  you  would  give  me 
leave  to  live  for  you  I  would  not  only  be  steady  forever 
and  forever,  but  I  would  be  ambitious  for  fame  and 
wealth  and  everything  that  would  make  you  happier. 
That  I  know  would  exalt  me  to  the  very  fenith  of  happi 
ness,  and  I  would  work  so  hard  for  it  all — for  you." 

"Dear  Jack,  you  are  so  good,"  she  sighed. 

"I  love  you  Ada,  with  all  my  soul,  and  it  is  a  pure, 
white  soul,  Ada,  barring  the  taint  I  told  you  of." 

"That  can  be  washed  away,  Mr.  Jack." 

"Indeed  it  can.  I  will  wash  it  away  in  my  love  for 
you.  B  Won't  you  love  me  a  little,  Ada?" 


A  CONFESSION  75 

"A  great  deal,"  she  murmured,  and  Mr.  Jack  Lacy 
folded  Miss  Ada  Benson  to  his  heart  and  kissed  her 
sweet  lips  with  all  the  fervor  of  a  pure  and  healthy  pas 
sion. 

"If  I  am  true  to  my  promise  and  do  something  to 
show  you  that  I  will  prove  a  loving,  protecting  and 
worthy  mate,  you  will  be  my  wife,  won't  you,  Ada 
darling?" 

"Yes,"  she  whispered,  and  Mr.  Jack  Lacy  kissed  her 
again,  registered  an  inward  vow  that  he  would  conquer 
the  world  for  this  sweet  creature.  He  would  mafte  for 
her  a  home  that  would  be  an  Eden  compared  to  which 
no  mortal  couple  ever  dreamed  of,  in-so-far  as  comfort 
and  love  and  happiness  were  concerned. 

Naturally  enough  Mr.  Jack  Lacy  would  have  stood 
there  holding  that  lovely  girl  in  his  arms,  until  he  would 
have  been  utterly  unable,  from  sheer  exhaustion,  to  begin 
early  next  day  the  work  of  preparing  his  material  Eden, 
but  for  the  fact  that  Miss  Benson,  being  possessed  of 
much  more  practical  capacity  for  building  Edens  than 
he  was,  gently  released  herself  from  him  and  said: 

"You  must  go  now.    It  is  time  I  should  be  in  doors." 
He  reluctantly  admitted  the  truth  of  that,  and  was 


76  A  CONFESSION 

walking  to  the  door  of  the  hall  with  her,  when  they  heard 
a  light  step  approaching.  Jack  stood  decorously  apart 
as  Mrs.  Dawson's  kind  and  gentle  face  appeared  in 
the  light  from  the  incandescent  globe,  and  taking  Miss 
Benson  distantly  by  the  hand  as  if  giving  her  the  most 
conventional  of  good-bye  salutes,  he  said: 

"Yes,  the  choir  sang  much  better  than  I  expected 
it  would  in  such  a  short  rehearsal — ah,  good  evening, 
Mrs.  Dawson."  Following  her  gentle  return  of  the 
salutation,  he  added: 

"You  ought  to  have  heard  the  choir's  rehearsal  for 
next  Sunday.  It  was  great.  But  you  will  hear  it  Sunday. 
I  am  afraid  it  is  very  late.  So  good-night,  Mrs.  Dawson, 
good-night,  Miss-a-Benson." 

Love  is  such  a  liar! 


CHAPTER  VI. 
Independence  Day. 

High  flies  the  flag  of  freedom  and  Columbia  to-day, 
And  gracefully  'tis  draping  in  the  breezes  from  the  bay; 
Bright  shines  the  gleaming  galaxy  of  interlinking  stars, 
While  stream  in  undulating  waves  its  white  and  crimson  bars. 

— Two  Songs  of  Single  Tune. 

Even  as  early  as  May,  of  St.  Movadu's  second  year,  the 
patriotic  and  enthusiastic  builders  of  that  phenomenal 
city  began  to  talk  earnestly  about  celebrating  the  com 
ing  Fourth  of  July,  and  in  a  short  time  it  had  been  de 
termined  that  this  thing  should  be  done  in  a  manner 
characteristic  of  the  place  and  its  people. 

Committees  on  this,  that  and  the  other,  to  act  for  the 
end  suggested,  were  appointed  at  meetings  of  the  Ajax 
Club  and  the  Chamber  of  Commerce  from  these  bodies, 
and  a  mass  meeting  was  held  in  the  tabernacle  to  make 
other  arrangements;  to  appoint  additional  committees 
and  to  raise  the  necessary  funds.  As  to  the  latter,  a 
sufficient  amount  was  subscribed  in  the  course  of  half  an 
hour,  and  it  reached  up  far  into  the  thousands  of  dollars. 

(77) 


78  INDEPENDENCE  DAY 

The  chairman  of  the  meeting  requested  the  people  of 
the  audience  to  announce  from  their  seats  what  they  were 
willing  to  give  in  furtherance  of  the  occasion,  and  the 
list  was  headed  by  James  Woodruff  with  a  "cool  five 
hundred."  Others  followed  in  rapid  succession  with 
equal  amounts  and  then  they  began  to  drop  to  two 
hundred,  and  one  hundred,  and  fifty,  and  twenty-five, 
according  to  the  financial  ability  o<f  the  donors. 

Money  was  almost  as  plenty  those  days  in  St.  Movadu 
as  are  leaves  in  Vallambrosa,  according  to  common  re 
port  and  tradition. 

From  the  time  of  the  mass  meeting  until  the  con 
summation  of  the  object  for  which  it  was  held  had  been 
achieved,  the  coming  celebration  was  continually  on  the 
tongues  of  all  patriots  in  that  prosperous,  wide-awake 
and  happy  community.  The  people  of  neighboring  cities 
and  towns  were  invited  to  participate,  en  masse,  and  not 
content  with  giving  even  such  great  signs  of  broad  hos 
pitality  as  that,  a  committee  was  dispatched  to  the  Brit 
ish  Columbia  cities  and  towns,  of  the  northward,  with 
pressing  invitations  to  the  people  there  to  come  and  join 
in  the  celebration  of  a  Declaration  which  eventuated  in 
freeing  from  the  crown  to  which  they  were  yet  subject 


INDEPENDENCE  DAY  79 

what  is  now  the  Republic  that  commemorates  the  most 
successful  rebellion  recorded  in  history. 

Two  or  three  days  before  the  great  day  had  arrived, 
the  people  of  St.  Movadu  were  engaged  in  decorating  the 
walls  and  windows  and  streets  of  the  city  with  evergreens 
and  banners,  flags,  mottoes,  garlands  and  arches,  to  give 
a  pleasing  appearance  and  a  glorious  welcome  to  their 
visitors,  and  to  make  as  happy  as  possible  the  great 
event. 

The  day  came  bright  and  clear  and  balmy,  and  with  it 
throngs  of  people  from  every  direction,  by  rail  and  sail, 
in  all  sorts  of  vehicles,  on  horseback  and  on  foot,  and 
great  steamers,  laden  with  multitudes  of  our  British 
cousins,  rounded  to,  majestically,  at  the  wharves  and  dis 
charged  their  processions,  among  which  were  borne  in 
great  numbers  the  flags  of  Britain  and  America  grace 
fully  draped  together.  Bands  of  music  headed  the 
crowds  from  each  of  the  steamers,  and  all  were  welcomed 
by  masses  of  the  people  of  St.  Movadu,  and  other  cities 
on  the  southern  side  of  the  line,  with  cheers  and  the 
music  of  bands  from  the  city  and  other  places  that  had 
already  gathered  there.  A  vast,  temporary  wooden 
structure  had  been  erected  and  gaily  decorated  for  the 


80  INDEPENDENCE  DAY 

oratorical  and  musical  exercises  of  the  occasion;  besides 
which  every  outdoor  sport  common  to  the  people  of  both 
nations  had  been  prepared  for  and  were  carried  on. 

/ 

Cricket,  base  ball,  la  crosse,  bicycle  races,  a  greased  pig 
and  a  greased  pole,  foot  races,  jumping  matches,  and 
indeed  fun,  amusement  and  entertainment  for  everybody 
were  provided. 

When  the  time  came  for  the  exercises  in  the  great 
building  the  place  was  crowded  to  the  fullest,  and  yet 
thousands  were  unable  to  gain  admission,  the  large  ma 
jority  of  whom,  however,  were,  happily,  more  interested 
in  the  sports  and  other  entertaining  features  of  the  day. 

The  most  brilliant  orator  of  the  state  had  been  secured 
for  the  leading  address,  and  one  or  two  eminent  speakers 
from  the  British  side  delivered  appropriate  speeches. 

The  general  committee  of  arrangements  had  some 
weeks  previously  requested  Jack  Lacy  to  prepare  a  poem 

• 

for  the  occasion.  The  versatile  Mr.  Lacy,  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  was  placed  before  an  obstacle  that  ap 
palled  him.  How  to  write  a  poem  glowing  with  Amer 
ican  patriotism,  celebrating  the  Republic's  greatest  holi 
day,  and  at  the  same  time  one  that  would  fall  easily  upon 
the  ears  </f  subjects  of  Great  Britain,  was  a  question  that 


INDEPENDENCE  DAY  81 

worried  him,  and  was  a  problem  most  difficult  of  solu 
tion.  But  Lacy  was  not  disposed  to  allow  any  obstacle  to 
thwart  him,  so  he  had  accepted  the  task,  and  fought  with 
it  through  many  days  and  nights.  Two  or  three  days 
previous,  however,  to  the  Fourth  of  July,  the  idea  of  two 
songs  of  single  tune  came  to  him  like  an  inspiration.  It 
occurred  to  him  that  "My  country  Tis  of  Thee," — our 
own  national  hymn  "America," — and  "God  Save  the 
Queen" — the  British  national  hymn — were  set  to  the 
same  music.  Made  happy  with  this  thought  the  always 
obliging  rhymster  caught  up  the  first  sheets  of  blank  f 
paper  within  his  reach,  and  quickly  produced  the  verses 
that  follow,  and  which,  in  a  strong,  musical  and  sym 
pathetic  voice,  he  read  from  memory,  amid  the  enthusi 
astic  applause  of  both  the  gathered  peoples. 

These  are  the  lines: 

High  flies  the  flag  of  Freedom  and  Columbia  to-day, 
And  gracefully  'tis  draping  in  the  breezes  from  the  bay. 
Bright  shine  the  gleaming  galaxy  of  interlinking  stars, 
While  stream  in  undulating  waves  its  white  and  crimson  bars. 
To-day  the  sons  of  Britain  and  America  are  here, 
To  meet  in  friendly  greeting  and  with  wholesome,  hearty  cheer, 
Not,  like  in  old  colonial  days,  in  grim  and  hostile  ranks, 
But  brethren,  from  one  common  stock,  enlightenment's  phalanx. 


82  INDEPENDENCE  DAY 

We've  met  again,  like  freemen,  to  closer  weave  the  bands 
That  bind  the  kindred  people  of  these  our  kindred  lands, 
And  to  hear  the  same  rich  music,  that  in  one  swelling  pean, 
Doth  blend  "My  Country  Tis  of  Thee"  with  grand  "God  Save 
the  Queen." 

We've  come  to  praise  the  heroes  that  freedom's  battle  won, 
As  British  stars  of  letters  and  statesmanship  have  done, 
In  days  of  war  and  days  of  peace,  in  forum,  field  and  home, 
Wher'er  the  British  drumbeat's  heard  beneath  the  ether  dome. 

From  eloquence  of  mighty  Pitt,  who  gave  fair  justice  tongue, 
To  praises  of  George  Washington  that  gifted  Byron  sung; 
»  From  Green,  the  grand  historian  of  Britain's  rule  and  sway, 
To  Cobden,  Bright  and  Gladstone,  of  her  brilliant  latter  day. 

With  Macaulay,  and  with  Thackeray  and  other  glorious  men 
Who  Britain's  glory  have  enriched  by  mitre,  sword  and  pen, 
Whose  breadth  and  wealth  of  candor  magnanimously  gave 
The  meed  of  praise  and  honor  to  our  noble,  true  and  brave. 

We  come  as  co-enjoyers  of  this  bright  western  land, 
Divided  only  by  a  line  of  fast-dissolving  sand, 
To  clasp  the  hand  in  kindness,  to  bring  each  other  joy; 
To  find  surcease  from  daily  toil  and  carking  care's  alloy. 

So  let  the  nation's  bells  ring  out,  and  all  her  banners  wave, 
While  Freedom's  light  from  Freedom's  sun  the  blessed  land  shall 
lave; 


INDEPENDENCE  DAY  83 

Let  cross-the-border  brethren,  and  kinsmen  here,  be  gay, 
While  blow  the  cornets,  beat  the  drums,  for  Independence  Day. 

Fling  out  the  flag  that  patriots  have  trusting  followed,  when 
Dread  battle's  blight  has  tried  the  souls  of  truest,  bravest  men, 
And  when  betimes  'twas  only  seen  within  the  rifting  cloud 
Before  whose  leaden  storm &i  hail  War's  sable  plume  has  bowed. 

And  while  the  bells  are  ringing  and  joy  is  everywhere; 
While  Harmony  is  singing  two  songs  of  single  air, 
We'll  praise  the  God  of  nations  and  one  undying  love, 
And  bow  in  grateful  thankfulness  for  blessings  from  above. 

And  let  us  hope  the  pattern  set,  by  Anglo-Saxon  sires, 
Who  lit  for  all  humanity  sweet  Freedom's  altar  fires, 
May  win  till  all  the  nations  shall  stand  beside  us  here, 
Unawed  by  any  despot's  rule  or  aught  to  make  them  fear. 

Then  higher  yet  the  banner  of  Columbia  shall  fly, 
And  brighter  shine  the  gleaming  stars  against  its  azure  sky; 
And  yet  more  gracefully  shall  wave  its  bars  of  red  and  white, 
An  emblem  and  a  talisman  of  perfect  human  right. 

Before  the  committee  of  the  Ajax  club,  a  week  or  two 
previous  to  the  celebration,  Major  Stamina  had  made  a 
speech  something  like  this: 

"Gentlemen,  I  want  to  be  appointed  a  committee  of 
one,  and  no  question  asked,  to  get  up  a  feature  for  the 


84  INDEPENDENCE  DAY 

Fourth,  and  I'll  make  it  a  corker  and  no  mistake.     I'll 

bring  something  here  that  you  can  bet  your  lives  will 

make  a  sensation  clean  out  of  sight.    Just  say  the  word, 

let  me  alone,  and  I'll  be  on  time  with  the  feature  of  the 

day." 

The  committee  knew  Major  Stamina  would  do  some 
thing  remarkable,  and  they  were  glad  to  appoint  him  "a 
committee  of  one  with  no  questions  asked." 

A  day  or  two  afterward,  Major  Stamina  suddenly  dis 
appeared  from  the  city,  but  returned  on  the  following  day 
looking  very  mysterious,  his  eyes  twinkling,  in  portrayal 
of  perfect  self-satisfaction.  When  asked  where  he  had 
been,  and  what  he  had  been  doing,  he  replied:  "I've 
been  'tending  to  my  committee  work,  and  I'll  be  there 
with  both  feet,  and  don't  you  forget  it.  No  mistake, 
gentlemen." 

The  major  was  missed  again  on  the  evening  preceed- 
ing  the  Fourth,  but  early  on  the  morning  of  that  glorious 
day  he  was  seen  coming  from  across  the  bay,  standing  in 
the  bow  of  one  of  five  huge  Indian  canoes,  of  which 
fleet  he  appeared  to  be  the  masterful  commodore.  These 
canoes,  one  after  another,  shot  into  Duncan's  Cove,  and 
were  beached  upon  the  sand-bar  described  early  in  this 


INDEPENDENCE  DAY  85 

faithful  chronicle.  It  was  then  known  that  Major 
Stamina's  committee  work  consisted  in  the  organization 
of  an  Indian  canoe  race.  The  major  had  visited  the 
nearest  Indian  reservation,  and,  for  a  purse  offered  by 
himself,  had  engaged  this  intensely  interesting  feature  for 
the  amusements  of  the  occasion.  Immediately  after  the 
exercises  in  the  great  wooden  pavilion  it  was  announced 
that  the  canoe  race  would  occur. 

These  canoes  were  about  forty  feet  in  length,  and, 
when  empty,  were  so  light  that  they  danced  upon  the 
waters  like  a  cork.  For  this  occasion  each  one  of  the 
five  canoes  that  Major  Stamina  had  secured  was  manned 
by  ten  athletic  Indians,  dressed  in  the  simple  garb  of 
their  own  copper-colored  cuticle,  barring  a  breech  clout 
about  the  hips,  and  a  scarf  of  bright  and  varied  colors 
tied  across  tihe  forehead  and  knotted  at  the  back  of  the 
head  of  each  stalwart  Si  wash. 

When  the  time  for  the  race  had  arrived,  a  tug-boat 
with  the  major  and  a  few  chosen  friends,  among  them 
Lacy,  Van  Waters,  and  the  honorable  orators  of  the  day, 
escorted  the  canoes  to  a  buoy,  about  a  mile  out  in  the 
bay,  where  they  were  given  a  fair  start,  the  tug  following 


86  INDEPENDENCE  DAY 

them  in  to  near  the  goal,  which  was  at  the  beach  in  the 

cove  previously  mentioned. 

From  every  point  in  St.  Movadu,  along  the  shores  of 
the  cove,  upon  the  bluffs,  on  the  tops  of  houses,  and  at 
distances  from  which  the  race  could  only  be  witnessed 
through  the  aid  of  field  glasses,  people  stood  in  such 
numbers  as  the  places  could  possibly  accommodate. 

The  canoes  started  from  the  buoy  with  a  dash  that 
seemed  to  make  them  lift  from  the  waters  as  if  they  were 
flying  fish.  Then  they  settled  to  the  work,  and  came 
careering  over  the  rippling  surface  of  the  bay  like  a 
string  of  thoroughbreds  at  a  Derby  race.  They  appeared 
almost  as  small  as  flying  fish  in  the  distance,  but  rapidly 
increased  in  size  as  they  advanced,  foaming  at  each  prow. 

As  nearer  and  nearer  they  came,  and  the  people  were 
enabled  to  distinguish  the  colors  worn  by  the  oarsmen  of 
each  canoe,  choices  were  made  and  wagers  were  laid 
among  those  on  the  shore  according  to  fancy. 

As  the  canoes  entered  the  cove,  they  were  almost  per 
fectly  aligned,  and  it  could  be  seen  that  the  streaming 
faces  of  the  Indians  exhibited  a  deep  eagerness  to  win 
the  race.  There  were  yet  about  five-hundred  feet  be 
tween  the  bows  of  the  canoes  and  the  goal  of  the  race. 


INDEPENDENCE  DAY  87 

At  this  point  a  canoe  at  the  center  bore  gracefully  to  the 
front,  the  two  on  either  side  feathering  to  the  rear  as  the 
ja£,  of  a  spear,  the  fleet  shaping  like  the  flight  of  wild 
geese.  The  shining  muscles  and  strained  sinews  of  every 
Indian  stood  out  like  carvings  in  bas-relief,  but  the  spear 
shape  was  not  lost  until  its  poin*  touched  the  sands,  and 
then,  from  the  mere  release  of  intense  interest  that  had 
held  the  great  throng  of  witnesses  to  the  strange  scene, 
there  went  up  a  simultaneous  shout  from  all  the  immense 
throng  except  the  panting  contestants,  who  flung  them 
selves  upon  the  sands,  into  the  edge  of  the  water,  and  in 
the  bottoms  of  their  canoes,  as  if  utterly  exhausted  from 
their  exertions. 

Major  Stamina,  was  wildly  exultant.  He  had  supplied 
the  feature  of  the  day. 

"And  no  mistake." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

The  Ajax  Club. 

I  walked  by  the  sea  and  picked  up  a  shell, 

Thrown  out  on  the  scalloped  shore, 
And  listened  to  hear  what  it  could  tell — 

It  crooned  the  city's  dull  roar 
I  threw  it  far  back  in  the  foaming  sea; 

It's  song  was  a  dreary  drone; 
A  story  of  sorrow  and  pain  to  me — 

The  memory  of  a  'moan 

—Ita  Est. 

"Humming,  ain't  she,  major?" 

"Say,  my  son,  this  is  the  biggest  preposition  that  ever 
struck  the  earth,  and  we  are  fairly  in  it." 

That  was  the  beginning  of  a  conversation  between  Van 
Waters  and  Major  Stamina  one  fine  morning  in  Septem 
ber,  about  the  time  when  St.  Movadu  had  reached  the 
zenith  of  her  wonderful  start.  The  major  stood  upon  the 
marble  steps  at  the  Duncan  avenue  front  of  the  St. 
Movadu  National  bank,  and  had  been  looking  in  every 
direction  with  evident  satisfaction,  for  the  major's  local 
patriotism — and  all  other  kinds  of  patriotism,  as  to  that — 

(88) 


THE  AJAX  CLUB  89 

was  immeasurable.  He  had  seen  the  beautiful  little  city 
grow  up  all  around  him,  had  been  a  potent  factor  in  it 
all,  and  naturally  he  was  pleased  and  proud. 

Indeed,  Newton  Morse's  foresight  in  the  selection  of 
the  spot,  and  his  money  to  give  it  the  start,  had  only 
made  the  work  of  these  other  two  men  possible,  for 
otherwise  it  might  be  said  that  they  had  built  the  city, 
Stamina  by  his  wonderful  work  as  a  schemer  for  what 
should  be  done,  and  his  ability  to  make  people  see  the  ad 
vantages  of  the  situation  and  induce  them  to  invest; 
Van  Waters  with  his  brilliant  and  incisive  newspaper, 
that  had  gone  gossiping  to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  picking 
up  men  of  all  kinds,  who  love  to  be  at  the  building  of 
something,  and  leading  them  to  the  place. 

Van  Waters  stepped  up  beside  Major  Stamina,  and 
standing  there  together  they  looked  down  the  broad 
avenue  to  where  it  ended  at  the  great  dock  alongside 
of  which  lay  craft  from  every  quarter  of  the  globe,  with 
hundreds  of  busy  stevedores,  longshoremen,  shipping 
clerks,  sailors  and  all  that,  engaged  about  the  vessels 
and  among  the  mighty  piles  of  freight  and  merchandise 
that  the  ships  were  receiving  and  discharging. 

On  both  sides  of  the  avenue  tall  blocks  of  widely 


90  THE  AJAX  CLUB 

varying  styles  of  business  architecture,  walled  the  wide 
way.  Hurrying  and  business-bent  streams  of  men,  wo 
men  in  beautiful  costumes,  carriages,  omnibuses,  drays, 
and  other  vehicles,  bright  and  cosmopolitan  looking, 
street  cars,  driven  by  electricity  or  drawn  by  cable — all 
the  signs  of  a  great  business  mart,  were  before  those  two 
men,  who  had  stopped  to  breathe  and  gossip  a  minute 
and  who  also  looked  toward  the  other  end  of  the  avenue, 
which  continuing  for  some  distance  with  the  same  char 
acteristics,  began  to  break  at  last,  toward  the  hills,  with 
the  handsome  homes  and  lawns  that  faced  the  avenue 
sides,  until  that  thoroughfare  had  climbed  a  mighty  hill 
upon  which  shone  the  facades  of  institutions  of  learning, 
many  churches,  a  grand  theatre  and  a  public  library,  with 
porticos  and  pillars,  the  crown  of  an  acropolis. 

Covering  two  floors  of  the  bank  building,  upon  whose 
steps  these  men  stood,  were  the  rooms  of  the  Ajax  club, 
an  organization  that  had  begun  in  an  ambitious  way  as 
soon  as  St.  Movadu  had  obtained  a  fair  start,  its  mem 
bership  composed  largely  of  the  brightest  and  most  en 
terprising  men  of  the  city,  not  only  for  the  general  pur 
pose  for  which  gentlemen's  clubs  are  usually  organized, 


THE  AJAX  CLUB  91 

but  really  more  for  the  purpose  of  advancing  the  city's 
material  interests. 

Van  Waters  and  Stamina  were  both  members  and  di 
rectors  of  this  club.  Van  Waters  had  originated  the  idea 
of  it,  and  he  had  been  honored  by  being  allowed  to  select 
a  name  for  it.  Facetiously  and  with  the  forcible  spirit  of 
the  man,  he  had  called  it  "Ajax,"  "because,"  he  said, 
"it  will  defy  the  lightning,  or  any  other  element."  He 
discovered  afterward  that  there  vas  one  thing  at  least 
that  it  could  not  defy,  successfully. 

This  club  caused  the  printing  and  circulation  of  doc 
uments,  profusely  illustrated  with  half-tone  engravings, 
of  attractive  features  of  the  place  and  vicinity,  and  por 
traits  of  leading  men.  It  was  always  prepared  to  take 
hold  of,  receive,  feast  and  fill  any  capitalist,  statesman  or 
other,  more  or  less  distinguished,  or  important  person, 
who  might  visit  St.  Movadu,  and  impress  him.  It  gath 
ered  in,  now  and  then,  a  star  actor  or  lecturer,  that  the 
club  believed  would  talk  in  glowing  terms  about  St. 
Movadu  on  his  travels.  And  then  the  club  had  set  days 
— or  rather  evenings — for  function1;  among  its  own  mem 
bers,  and  "ladies'  day"  came  once  a  month,  when  the  fair 
ones,  young  and  old,  the  leading  spirits  of  society,  were 


92  THE  AJAX  CLUB 

entertained  with  music  and  ices,  and  distinguished  at 
tention,  by  the  club  members. 

Alas!  "Society"  had  gotten  into  this  well-intended 
club,  and  the  thought  and  fact  which  elicited  the  ex 
clamation  at  the  beginning  of  this  sentence,  are  and  were 
that  this  was  the  kind  of  society  that  so  many  times,  in 
young  western  cities,  grows  too  suddenly,  and  with  it  a 
lot  of  mushroom,  toad-stool  stuff,  the  product  of  the 
newly  rich;  the  alleged  "400;"  the  sublimation  of  pitiful 
parvenuism,  that  makes  sensible  people  sick,  after  such 
sens'  le  people  have  laughed  sufficiently  at  the  painful 
absurdities  of  the  prancing  ninnies. 

"Everything  going  ahead  great,  old  man,"  said  Major 
Stamina,  slapping  Van  Waters  familiarly  on  the  s'houlder. 

And  it  should  here  be  explained  that  Major  Stamina's 
offices  were  in  the  bank  building,  together  with  the  offices 
of  numbers  of  other  real  estate  men,  lawyers,  doctors  and 
dentists,  but  it  was  only  for  a  few  moments  every  day  that 
Stamina  saw  his  splendid  and  well  systematized  offices; 
where  he  kept  several  clerks,  bookkeepers,  typewriters 
and  the  like  at  work.  The  open  air  was  his  most  used 
office.  He  was  a  man  of  deeds,  and  push,  and  energy, 
and  the  outside,  in  his  strong  buggy,  behind  his  dull- 


THE  AJAX  CLUB  93 

looking  but  serviceable  flea-bitten  roan,  was  his  field  of 
performance. 

"Yes,  indeed,"  replied  Van  Waters.  "It  begins  to 
look  as  if  we  could  take  a  rest  now  for  a  while,  major." 

"Rest!  Great  heavens,  man,  I  don't  want  to  rest!  I 
ain't  tired.  I  want  to  see  this  town  grow  so  big  that  we 
won't  have  room  between  here  and  the  mountains  to 

build  it  on.    And  that's  what  she's  going  to  do  too." 

*. 

"My  faith  has  never  wavered  for  an  instant,  but — " 
"But  what?     Why,  bless  your  life,  man,  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  you  and  the  "Times"  St.  Movadu  wouldn't  be  as 
much  as  a  hole  in  the  woods." 

"There  are  a  whole  lot  of  things  worrying  me,  major." 
"Well,  then,  let's  go  and  take  a  drink.  I'll  take  a  cigar 
and  you  can  take  champagne.  I've  noticed  that  cham 
pagne  has  done  you  a  sight  of  good  many  a  time.  Braced 
you  up  for  the  time  being,  and  braced  you  for  a  long  time 
after  it  had  made  you  sick  and  you'd  got  over  it." 

"This  election  is  bothering  me,  major.  The  time  has 
come  when  we've  got  to  take  every  part  of  the  city  man 
agement  out  of  the  hands  of  fellows  who  are  getting  hold 
of  it  to  trade  on,  select  the  officials  and  rob  the  tax 
payers.  These  mining  camp  features  must  be  blotted 


94  THE  AJAX  CLUB 

out.  St.  Movadti  has  got  beyond  that,  and  moreover, 
we  don't  want  to  have  any  of  the  dive  political  boss  sys 
tem  fastened  on  to  us." 

"That's  all  right,  old  man,  you  .andle  that  end  of  the 
show.  You  can  do  it  and  I'll  stand  by  you." 

"Yes,  but  the  devil  of  it  is,  major,  I'm  getting  decidedly 
tired  of  doing  all  that  sort  of  thing  without  any  sort  of 
gratitude  for  i<t  from  any  source — and  in  fact  being 
treated  as  if  I  were  hired  to  do  all  that  is  done  through  the 
"Times"  without  any  hope  of  anything  but  my  salary." 

"What  do  you  want?    Want  to  go  to  Congress?" 

"Congress  be  blasted!  No,  I  want  something  safe  for 
the  future.  And  I  want  a  chance,  while  I'm  making  great 
men  of  such  dod-gasted  poor  material,  to  get  a  solid 
hold  on  the  earth." 

"Well,  I  thought  if  you  wanted  to  go  to  Congress  we'd 
send  you ;  but  what  the  devil  we'd  do  while  you  were  off 
there  rusticating  around,  so  to  speak,  I  don't  know. 
What's  the  matter  with  your  business?  Ain't  you  mak 
ing  money?" 

"You  are  so  all-of-a-sudden,  and  going  it  all  the  time 
that  you  don't  see  the  situation,  but  then  why  should 


THE  AJAX  CLUB  95 

you?  I  can't  expect  you  to  be  bothered  with  my  inter 
ests,  old  man." 

"But  I  will.    What's  the  matter?" 

"Well,  the  fact  is  just  this.  You  know  I'm  no  business 
man.  They  pay  me  a  good  salary  over  yonder,  and  then 
s:nd  every  subscription  paper  that  is  started,  to  build 
this,  that  and  the  other,  or  to  advance  every  blooming 
scheme  on  earth — they  send  'em  to  me." 

"Who  does?" 

"The  company." 

"Tell  'em  to  go  to  Guinea." 

"But  they  won't  go.  Meantime  the  company  is  getting 
hold  of  all  the  stock  of  the  "Times,"  and  now  that  Newton 
Morse  has  quit  business,  gone  to  Europe,  studying  gram 
mar  and  putting  on  airs,  they  have  begun  to  think  that  I 
am  getting  along  too  well  and  they  are  fixing  to  freeze 
me  out." 

"Say,  Van  Waters,  in  these  days  I'm  prepared  to  be 
lieve  almost  anything  about  them  fool  critters,  that  comes 
witn  any  degree  of  authenticity,  but  I  want  to  tell  you, 
old  man,  that  you  are  pushing  me  just  a  leetle  too  far  on 
this.  Why,  man,  them  critters  can't  be  that  blind  to  their 
own  interests — not  to  speak  of  gratitude." 


96  THE  AJAX  CLUB 

"Tnere  are  two  things,  yea  three — to  plagiarize  Sol 
omon  a  little — 'that  are  too  opaque  for  their  devotees  to 
see  through  fairly.  These  are  religious  bigotry,  avari- 
ciousness  and  shoddy  society." 

"Well,  what's  that  got  to  do  with  you?" 

"A  great  deal  in  this  instance.  Old  Grayhunt,  the  new 
president,  represents  religious  bigotry;  Jim  Keen,  the 
secretary,  represents  avariciousness,  and  Watt  Phelps,  the 
treasurer,  represents  shoddy  aristocracy — or  at  least  his 
wife  does,  and  she  comes  very  near  bossing  the  entire 
job." 

"But  say,  Van,  you've  got  more  religion  of  the  right 
kind  in  your  little  finger  than  old  Grayhunt  has  in  his 
whole  carcass.  Keen  never  had  five  dollars  in  his  life 
until  Morse  brought  him  here  and  gave  him  some  stock, 
and  Watt  Phelps  was  born  a  mule-skinner,  and  his  wife's 
mother  was  a  char-woman  in  Chicago,  to  my  certain 
knowledge,  descended  from  a  long  line  of  wharf-raits,  so 
far  back  as  the  rats  know." 

"But  can't  you  see,  major,  that  all  this  only  makes  the 
matter  worse?" 

"Say,  Van,  lets  go  get  that  drink.  You  need  it,  and 
you'll  drive  me  to  some  bad  habit -yet,"  - 


THE  AJAX  CLUB  97 

"All  right,  I'll  go." 

"Where'll  we  go?" 

"Down  to  Kingsbury's.  That  fellow  has  developed  in  a 
mighty  peculiar  way.  Remember  in  the  old  days  when 
he  kept  a  real  decent  grocery  store  down  there  where 
Samson's  block  is  now?" 

"Yes." 

"And  he  took  to  running  a  saloon?" 

"Yes." 

"What  do  you  reckon  he  ever  did  that  for?" 

"To  make  money,  I  suppose." 

"That's  it,  and  he's  done  it.  He  puts  every  dollar  he 
clears  into  town  lots,  too.  Sensible  in  that.  I  reckon 
he's  worth  a  cool  hundred  thousand." 

"In  town  lots?" 

"Yes." 

"Tell  you  another  thing.  I  believe  one  of  the  things 
that  made  ihim  go  into  the  saloon  business  was  to  get 
more  leisure  to  sit  down  and  talk  to  Jack  Lacy." 

"But  Jack  has  been  straight  for  a  long  time  now." 

"Yes,  but  he  spends  every  minute  he  can  spare  down 
there  talking  to  Kingsbury,  if  it  isn't  the  right  time  of  day 


98  THE  AJAX  CLUB 

f 

for  him  to  see  that  pooty  school-marm.  Bet  he's  there 
now." 

By  this  time  Van  and  the  major  had  reached  Kings- 
bury's.  They  passed  through  a  side  door  and  into  a  little 
private  room,  of  which  there  were  several  in  the  place,  all 
of  them  furnished  richly,  with  mahogany  tables,  easy  and 
heavy  chairs,  moquet  carpets,  and  the  walls  adorned 
with  excellent  engravings,  expensively  framed.  The 
main  establishment,  which  also  contained  a  number  of 
the  finest  billiard  tables,  was  a  wonder  of  art  in  the 
different  lines  necessary  to  its  furnishing,  but  as  we  will 
have  no  special  business  there,  and  shall  spend  no  time 
in  that  part  of  the  place,  the  description  of  it  will  be  dis 
missed  with  the  statement,  that  it  was  one  of  the  most 
gorgeous  establishments  of  its  kind  known  in  any  city  of 
the  west,  where  the  most  extravagantly  superb  liquor 
saloons  in  the  world  are  to  be  found.  All  of  which  proves 
that  in  no  other  business  is  money  so  copiously  spent  as 
in  the  bar-rooms  of  American  cities,, nor  so  profusely 
used  to  make  these  places  attractive,  and  to  out-rival 
each  other. 

Van  Waters  and  Major  Stamina  seated  themselves  at 


THE  AJAX  CLUB  99 

the  table  of  the  room  they  occupied,  the  major  having 
first  touched  the  button  to  an  electric  annunciator. 

A  waiter  appeared  immediately  and  Major  Stamina 
said: 

"Bring  me  a  light  perfecto.    What'll  you  have,  Van?" 

"The  same  thing;  only  let  mine  be  strong." 

"The  dickens.  I  thought  you  were  going  to  have 
some  wine?" 

"No,  thank  you.  I  just  want  to  rest  and  smoke  and 
have  a  little  further  talk,  major." 

"Well,  I'm  really  glad  of  it,  though  you  had  blame 
nigh  provoked  me  into  getting  somebody  to  take  a  drink 
for  me." 

Meantime  the  servant  had  appeared  with  the  two 
cigars,  in  a  glass,  and  that  of  either  man  was  easily 
chosen  by  its  color.  The  cigars  were  lighted  and  Van 
Waters  changed  his  position  to  a  recumbent  one  on  a 
sofa,  where  he  lazily  smoked.  Major  Stamina,  who 
probably  had  never  lain  down  in  his  life,  except  when  he 
deliberately  went  to  bed  to  sleep,  retained  his  position." 

"Ladies'  day  at  the  club  yesterday,"  Van  Waters  sen- 
tentiously  remarked. 

"Yes.    Didn't  see  you  there." 


100  THE  AJAX  CLUB 

"I  was  there,  only  a  few  minutes." 

"Didn't  stay  long  myself,  and  I  didn't  see  Mrs.  Van 
and  Grace." 

"No;  they've  quit  going." 

"That  daughter  Grace  of  yours  is  getting  to  be  a 
splendid  woman." 

"Yes,  I  call  her  my  grand-daughter." 

"Oh,  I'd  bet  on  you  for  that,  but  then  she  is  a  grand 
girl." 

"The  pride  and  ambition  of  mv  life." 

"But  why  have  they  quit  going?" 

"Got  too  toney  for  them." 

"Say,  Van,  that  Phelps  woman  will  have  to  be  taken 
down  a  button-hole  or  two.  She  is  raising  old  Ned  in 
this  town  among  the  women.  People  that  are  not  in 
her  so-called  set  are  worried  a  heap  by  her.  Of  course 
she  ain't  bothering  me  any,  but  I  hate  to  see  such  frip 
pery  beggar-on-horseback  business." 

"You  seem  to  hit  the  keynote  every  time.  How  do  you 
do  it,  major?" 

"I  don't  know — just  naturally  see  things  somehow." 

"Well,  to  be  candid  with  you,  major,  that  is  one  of  the 
things  that  have  been  annoying  me,  and  I'm  ashamed  to 


THE  AJAX  CLUB  101 

own  it  to  myself.  For  the  truth  is  that  individually  I 
don't  care  anything  more  about  that  sort  of  cattle  than  I 
do  about  a  stray  dog.  Fact  is  I'm  a  little  leery  of  a  dog 
that  I  don't  know." 

"Heap  of  church  at  the  bottom  of  it,  I  think." 

"Well,  yes,  and  no.  Myself  and  family  have  been 
Episcopalians  for  generations.  I  don't  remember  when 
I  couldn't  recite  from  memory  the  creed  and  catechism, 
Litany  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  and  when  Dr.  Hamilton 
came  here  to  establish  St.  Paul's  parish  and  his  little 
Episcopal  chapel,  I  went  into  the  matter  heart  and 
soul—" 

"As  usual—" 

"No,  it  seemed  more  like  we  could  have  something  of 
the  nature  that  I  was  familiar  with,  and  for  Nan  and 
Grace's  sake,  too — more  especially,  in  fact,  I  wanted  it. 
But  some  of  these  blame  fool  women — Phelps  and  her 
following — took  it  into  their  heads  that  it  would  be  fash 
ionable,  exclusive,  toney,  or  something  of  that  sort,  and 
though  they  didn't  know  the  Morning  Service  from  the 
Odes  of  Anacreon,  blame  me  if  they  didn't  take  posses 
sion  of  the  whole  thing  and  proceed  at  once  to  make  the 
house  of  the  Lord  on  the  Episcopal  side,  too  sultry  alto- 


102  THE  AJAX  CLUB 

gether  for  anything  this  side  of  the  place  that  churches 
are  supposed  to  save  people  from." 

"House  steam-heated?"  asked  the  major  with  a 
chuckle. 

"No,  hot-air.  '  There  was  Ada  Benson,  for  instance,  as 
sweet  and  pure  a  girl  as  there  is  on  the  earth,  born  and 
bred  an  Episcopalian;  they  snubbed  her  because  she  was 
only  a  sdhool-teacher,  and  in  every  possible  direction 
that  outfit  have  made  the  town  a  misery  to  women  who 
don't  belong  to  what  they  call  their  set,  and  the  worst  of 
it  is  that  in  ninety-nine  cases  out  of  a  hundred  this  bevy 
of  shoddyites  are  not  anywhere  near  as  well-bred,  in 
telligent  and  accomplished  as  the  people  -they  are  per 
secuting.  They've  carried  this  thing  into  Ladies'  Day 
at  the  club,  and  have,  as  a  consequence,  extended  it  to  the 
husbands  and  sweethearts  of  the  ostracised  women.  Poor 
old  Jack  Lacy,  for  instance,  you  never  see  him  at  the  club 
now-a-days,  and  you  know  he  was  the  life  of  everything 
in  the  good  old  times,  when  we  were  all  alike  here,  and 
before  those  who  have  got  rich  on  town  lots,  grew  to  be 
better  than  you  and  me  and  the  men  who  have  done  the 
work.  We  have  been  busy  building  a  city,  they  have 
profited  by  our  achievement,  and  while  we  have  been  at 


THE  AJAX  CLUB  103 

that  they  have  been  erecting  a  nasty  little  '400'  around 
us  to  ostracise  our  families." 

"Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?"  queried  the 
major  in  a  sad  sort  of  way. 

"Nothing,  except  that  I'll  keep  my  contingent  out  of. 
it,  and  I'll  give  it  to  'em  in  the  Times,'  together  with  the 
religious  bigotry  business." 

"I  see  you  have  been  doing  some  of  that  already,  and 
that  is  what  is  getting  old  Grayhunt  and  company  down 
on  you.  Well,  go  it,  old  man,  and  if  they  work  you  out  of 
the  'Times'  we'll  give  you  another  newspaper." 

"Whoop!  I  want  to  lick  a  home-made  dude!"  was  an 
exclamation  that  came  in  the  tones  of  a  man  wildly 
drunk,  from  the  main  hall  of  the  saloon. 

"Great  heavens!"  exclaimed  Van  Waters,  "there  is 
Jack  Lacy  on  another  drunk." 

"Too  bad,  too  bad,"  almost  groaned  the  major.  But 
he  touched  the  button  of  the  annunciator  and  when  the 
servant  showed  his  face,  the  major  said: 

"Go  and  tell  Mr.  Lacy  I  want  to  see  him." 

In  less  than  a  minute  Jack  Lacy  burst  in  at  the  door, 
exclaiming  in  a  jolly  drunken  man's  way: 


104  THE  AJAX  CLUB 

» 

"Hello,  major!  How're  you,  Van?  Le's  take  a 
drink?" 

"No,  you  wont,"  coolly  remarked  the  major.  "You've 
had  enough  now  to  make  the  Sphinx  of  Egypt  drunk, 
and  I  want  you  to  quit."  He  touched  the  bell-push 
ajain. 

"This  will  make  your  friends  feel  awful,  Jack.  You 
have  been  straight  so  long,"  said  Van  Waters. 

"Don't  care  a  d — : — n,"  said  the  boozy  Jack.  "They've 
been  imposing  on  my  sweetheart,  an'  I  want  to  lick 
somebody." 

"S — h!  That's  no  way  to  talk,"  said  Van  Waters,  and 
at  the  same  moment  the  servant  had  been  in  and  the 
major  had  told  him  to  ring  for  a  carriage. 

The  conversation  that  ensued  between  the  three  men 
was  only  of  the  character  necessary  to  quiet  Lacy,  on  the 
part  of  the  major  and  Van  Waters,  and  drunken  expostu 
lations  from  Jack,  who  soon  relented.  The  carriage  was 
at  the  door,  and  the  three  men  entered  and  drove  away. 

"Society"  had  even  touched  poor  Jack  Lacy  with  its 
cruel  fingers. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

« 

A  Close  Call. 

The  tiger's  cub  was  gentle,  and  it  played  with  a  little  child; 
Its  feet  were  velvet  cushions,  and  its  brown  eyes  meek  and  mild; 
The  changes  came  so  softly  that  its  playmate  had  not  seen 
The  cruel  claws  in  velvet  and  the  brown  eyes  glinting  green; 
Then  came  a  gallant  lancer — a  good,  gray  man,  and  bold, 
Who  slew  the  snarling  tiger  with  his  gleaming  spear  of  gold. 

— The  Spear  of  Gold- 
Major  Stamina  and  Van  Waters  landed  poor  Jack  at 
a  place  of  comfort  and  safety  that  proved  to  be  the  great 
est  blessing  of  Lacy's  physical  life,  for  with  his  really 
good  intentions  and  with  his  pure  and  intense  love  for 
Ada  Benson  he  afterward  weathered  life's  storms  in  a 
good  strong  way  that  was  satisfactory  to  himself  and 
his  friends. 

Before  it  could  be  noised  abroad  in  St.  Movadu  that 
Lacy  had  been  misled  into  another  of  his  old  tilts  with  that 
enemy  who  can  down  a  king,  and  often  has  done  so,  Ada 
had  been  informed  that  it  had  become  necessary  for  Mr. 
Lacy  to  leave,  immediately,  on  a  very  important  errand 

(105) 


106  A  CLOSE  CALL 

for  the  "Times"  on  which  he  had  been  working  some 
months  as  an  alert  and  efficient  reporter,  and  as  quickly 
as  the  mail  could  return  Miss  Benson  would  receive  let 
ters  from  Mr.  Lacy's  own  hand. 

A  faithful  man  was  sent  with  Lacy  by  steamer  and  rail 
to  a  hot  springs  sanitarium  among  the  mountains,  and 
after  a  week  there,  in  charge  of  a  fatherly  old  physician,  a 
friend  for  many  years  of  Major  Stamina,  fully  informed 
of  all  the  particulars  and  necessities  of  the  occasion,  Lacy 
came  out  once  more  as  bright  as  a  dollar,  and  armed 
forever  against  the  further  attacks  of  the  insidious  foe 
that  had  so  often  taken  him  down,  strong  man  as  he  was, 
like  the  many-armed  octopus  of  the  deep  gathers  the 
best  swimmers  and  the  strongest  fighter  in  its  slimy 
tentacles. 

Letters  that  were  white  lies  came  plentifully  from 
Jack,  and  were  reinforced  by  the  major  and  Van  Waters, 
and  so  Lacy's  last  failure  in  the  path  of  steadiness  was  not 
known  to  Ada  until  many  years  afterward,  when  the  little 
fraud  was  laughed  at  because  it  was  so  old  and  tottering 
and  weakened  and  forgiveable. 

Meantime,  during  Lacy's  absence,  occurred  the  most 


A  CLOSE  CALL  107 

important  municipal  election  that  St.  Movadu  had  ever 
had  or  probably  ever  will  have. 

The  little  city  had  arisen  above  the  "camp"  condition, 
and  yet  there  was  a  strong  remnant  of  it  dangerous  to 
its  future. 

The  question  that  existed  was  whether  or  not  the 
whisky  and  gambling  and  dive  element  should  continue 
to  carry  on,  almost  uncontrolled,  and  in  fact  be  largely 
the  directors  of  the  city's  municipal  and  financial  affairs. 

In  sudi  a  young  city  the  construction  of  sewers,  the 
multiplying  of  lighting  apparatus,  the  improvement  of 
streets,  the  increase  of  the  fire  and  police  departments,  the 
iranipulation  of  all  this  and  more,  the  money  to  be 
handled  and  the  "jobs"  involved,  were  of  course  tempting 
to  the  jobbers  and  dangerous  to  the  taxpayers. 

Van  Waters  had  been  watching  all  this  with  a  jealous 
eye  to  the  city's  interests,  and  through  his  wide-awake  re 
porters,  every  one  of  whom  were  keen  detectives,  and 
his  own  incisive  perception,  had  the  matter  well  in  hand. 

1  .e  man  McManus,  who  aspired  to  be  the  political 
boss  on  the  questionable  side,  was  the  owner  of  a  big 
saloon  that  was  the  resort  of  the  negro  "crap  pitcher,"  the 
tin-horn  gambler,  the  brazen  woman  of  the  town  out  for 


108  A  CLOSE  CALL 

a  jamboree,  the  hobo  and  the  loafer,  with  a  sprinkling  of 
a  class  that  was  only  bad  because  of  'the  depths  to 
which  whisky  and  morphine  had  flung  them,  the  poor 
sufferers  from  habits  that  had  shattered  their  nerves 
and  who  gathered  there  in  hopes  of  obtaining,  by  some 
means,  a  surcease  for  a  few  hours  from  their  nervous 
agony.  Besides,  he  had,  adjoining,  a  dance  hall,  a  gamb 
ling  place,  and  a  variety  show,  that  attracted  all  of  the 
elements,  mostly  of  the  lowest  class,  that  haunt  such 
places. 

Notwithstanding  such  possessions  and  the  manage 
ment  of  them  through  men  much  of  his  character,  usu 
ally  faithful  men  in  their  way,  McManus  had  some  of 
the  attributes  of  a  decent  man.  He  was  well-dressed, 
drank  but  little  himself,  was  fairly  educated  and  possessed 
of  more  than  ordinary  intelligence. 

There  are  those  who  cannot  understand  this;  for  the 
very  reason  that  having  been  brought  up  in  a  moral  at 
mosphere  they  are  unable  to  comprehend  the  coalescence 
of  the  one  with  the  other. 

The  reformed  prize-fighter,  who  by  something  akin  to  a 
miracle  becomes  imbued  with  Christianity,  and  learns  the 
story  of  the  gentle  Nazarene,  can  tell  it  better  to  the  class 


A  CLOSE  CALL  109 

he  associates  with  than  the  most  eloquent  man  that  ever 
preached. 

The  Salvation  army  does  more  good  in  the  purlieus 
wherein  it  works  than  the  members  of  the  finest  plush 
upholstered  church,  because  the  souls  the  Salvation  army 
seeks  believe  more  in  the  sincerity  and  kinship  of  those 
who  come  to  them  with  songs  set  to  the  tunes  of  the 
streets. 

McManus  and  Van  Waters,  in  the  building  up  of  St. 
Movadu,had  met  on  the  common  ground  of  St.  Movadu's 
primitive  interests  and,  in  a  way,  they  had  become  friends. 
But  Van  Waters  and  McManus  were  both  men  of  suffi 
cient  sense  to  see  where  even  so  slight  a  friendship  as 
theirs  must  end  on  a  high  moral  plane. 

Two  tickets  for  mayor  and  city  council-men  had  been 

.nominated,  the  one  representing  the  better  element  of 

the  people  and  the  other  the  element  of  McManus,  which 

latter  must  have  a  government  that  would  at  least  blink 

at  the  jobbers. 

How  was  the  baser  element  to  be  strenuously  and  suc 
cessfully  opposed? 

Van  Waters  knew  that  it  was  possible  only  through 
his  newspaper.  He  was  a  patriot  and  hesitated  not.  He 


110  A  CLOSE  CALL 

had  the  matter  well  in  hand,  knew  all  of  its  details  and 
ramifications,  and  brave  and  true  man  that  he  was  he 
did  not  hesitate  to  take  the  most  effective  steps. 

He  printed  the  facts,  editorially  and  otherwise,  in  his 
paper,  concerning  McManus'  schemes.  That  very  astute 
politician  of  the  lower  order  had  registered  every  disrep 
utable  character  that  he  had  any  influence  over  until  he 
had  actually  accumulated  something  over  three  hundred 
registration  certificates,  and  by  means  known  to  every 
scheming  ward  politician,  where  the  Australian  ballot 
system  prevails,  he  had  secured  enough  of  these  vouchers, 
which,  placed  in  the  hands  of  his  hirelings,  would  be 
the  balance  of  power  in  the  coming  election. 

Van  Waters  had  discovered  all  this;  "had  it  down  fine," 
as  the  slang  of  the  day  went,  and  exposed  the  whole  thing 
in  the  "Times."  This  was  on  the  day  but  one  preceding 
the  election,  and  besides  the  general  exposure  he  printed 
elsewhere  in  numerous  places  in  his  paper  the  following 
card  in  black  letters: 

"It  is  known  to  the  Times'  that  certain  individuals  have 
arranged  to  steal  the  coming  city  election  by  the  use  of 
fraudulent  registration  certificates.  This  is  to  inform  those 
persons  that  their  entire  plan  is  known,  and  if  one  or 


A  CLOSE  CALL  111 

more  of  said  fraudulent  registration  certificates  are  used, 
as  proposed,  the  'Times,'  which  has  a  full  corps  of  capable 
reporters  on  duty  in  the  premises,  will  land  every  individ 
ual  who  has  anything  to  do  with  the  matter  in  state's 
prison." 

On  the  evening  following  the  publication  of  these 
things,  McManus  came  to  the  office  of  the  Times.'  He 
had  been  there  often  before  and  knew  well  enough  where 
the  desk  of  the  editor-in-chief  was.  Passing  through  the 
rooms  of  the  reporters  he  went  to  the  desk  of  the  editor, 
who  was  engaged  about  his  regular  duties,  and  drew  up 
a  chair,  seating  himself  in  a  familiar  way  thereon. 

There  was  only  one  other  person — a  reporter — a 
bright  young  Jew,  in  the  rooms,  and  he  not  in  that  par 
ticular  office. 

"Good  evening,  Van." 

"Good  evening,  Mac,"  were  the  brief  salutations. 

Then  after  a  few  moments,  in  which  Van  Waters 
pushed  his  pencil  with  almost  unusual  vigor,  he  halted, 
threw  down  the  writing  utensil  on  his  manuscript  and 
quietly  asked: 

"Want  to  see  me  about  anything  in  particular?" 

"Rather  particular,"  returned  McManus. 


112  A  CLOSE  CALL 

"Go  ahead,"  said  Van  Waters. 

"Some  pretty  hard  things  the  'Times'  said  about  me 
this  morning." 

"Well,  I  'spose  they  are — from  your  standpoint,  Mac, 
but  they  go." 

"I  know  they  go,  Van,  and  that's  the  reason  I  have 
come  to  see  you." 

Van  fingered  nervously  with  the  drawer  in  his  desk. 

"Don't  bother  about  that,  Van;  you  and  I  are  not 
going  to  have  any  trouble.  Leave  your  gun  where  it  is," 
and  Van  swung  back  his  desk  chair  to  its  full  tilt. 

"Go  on,"  he  said. 

"Well,  it  is  this,  Van;  I  know  if  this  thing  keeps  up 
that  either  you  or  I  will  get  killed.  I  don't  want  to  kill 
you,  and  I  don't  believe  you  want  to  kill  me.  The  reason 
I  don't  want  to  kill  you  is  because  I  like  you  and  you  are 
a  good  citizen.  Maybe  you  don't  believe  this,  but  here 
is  something  that  I  know  you  will  believe.  If  I  were  to 
hurt  you,  popular  as  you  are  in  this  city,  it  would  do 
me  great  injury.  It  would  ruin  my  business  and  I'd 
make  nothing  in  the  end;  therefore,  I  have  come  here  to 
tell  you  that  you  can  have  those  registration  certificates 


A  CLOSE  CALL  113 

and  destroy  them,  although  they  have  cost  me  a  pretty 
fair  dollar  or  so." 

Van  Waters'  magnanimity  was  touched  and  he  said: 

"Well,  when  it  comes  to  that,  old  man,  if  you  tell  me 
you'll  destroy  the  certificates,  that  settles  it.  I'll  take 
your  word  for  it." 

"No,"  said  McManus,  "take  a  man  and  go  with  me  to 
my  place  and  we'll  destroy  them  together.  I  know  you 
and  I  know  you  will  go." 

"I  don't  want  anybody  with  me,"  said  Van  Waters, 
taking  the  improved  Smith  &  Wesson  from  the  drawer 
and  putting  it  in  his  hip  pocket. 

"But  I'd  rather  you  would  have  somebody  with  you," 
continued  McManus.  "Men  have  heart  disease  and  all 
such  things  as  that.  I  would  rather  you  would  have 
somebody  along." 

"Will  you  go,  Roth?"  queried  Van  Waters  to  the  young 
Jew  on  the  other  side  of  the  partition,  and  who,  he  knew, 
had  heard  every  word  that  had  passed. 

"Go  with  you  anywhere,"  said  the  loyal  young  Hebrew, 
and  in  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell  it  the  three  were  on 
the  sidewalk  bent  for  the  McManus  club  dive. 

They  arrived  there.    It  was  about  10  o'clock  at  night 


114  A  CLOSE  CALL 

and  the  place  was  in  full  fume.  The  air  was  loaded  with 
the  smoke  of  all  kinds  of  cigars  from  the  best  to  the 
worst,  including  the  smoke  of  pipes.  There  was  the  clink 
of  glasses ;  the  poor  voice  of  the  serio-comic  singer  could 
be  heard  from  the  variety  hall,  and  the  click  of  chips  from 
the  gambling  table,  as  well  as  the  call  of  the  roulette 
singer  with  something  about  "black  and  white."  There 
were  the  "crap"  players,  "Come,  good  old  number,"  and 
every  one  of  the  sounds  of  such  a  place. 

Men  stood  astonished  to  see  the  proprietor  of  the  dive 
and  one  they  deemed  his  deadliest  enemy  come  in  arm- 
in-arm. 

Roth  and  Van  Waters  halted  at  the  end  of  the  counter, 
and  McManus  went  back  between  the  counter  and  the 
whisky  shelves  to  the  safe,  which  he  opened,  taking 
therefrom  two  large  packages  of  elastic-bound  paper 
slips.  He  beckoned  to  a  man  at  the  desk,  who  followed 
him,  and  the  four  entered  a  narrow  but  well-lit  passage 
and  turned  into  a  handsomely  out-fitted  apartment,  the 
boss'  private  room  in  the  place.  There  was  a  smoulder 
ing  coal  fire  in  the  grate,  the  place  was  as  quiet  as  possi 
ble,  considering  the  surroundings  and  the  thin  walls. 
They  sat  at  a  table.  The  boss  cut  the  gum  bands  on  the 


A  CLOSE  CALL  115 

paper  packages,  showed  what  they  were  and  then  laid 
them  on  the  slow  coals,  where  they  crumpled,  crinkled 
and  blazed,  and  in  a  few  minutes  all  that  was  left  was  a 
few  scorched  ends  of  the  registration  certificates. 

Then  McManus  arose,  caught  Van  Waters  by  the  hand 
and  said: 

"That's  to  you  and  me  and  our  lives,  old  man.  I  know 
you  and  you  know  me." 

"Good.  Have  something  with  me.  Touch  the  bell  for 
a  couple  of  quarts,  Roth,  old  boy,"  and  the  four  drank 
the  two  quarts,  after  they  had  been  brought  in  by  a 
waiter. 

jt 

During  the  libations  there  was  talk  on  general  subjects. 
Then,  escorted  to  the  front  door  by  McManus  and  his 
friend,  Van  Waters  and  "Roth" — which  was  his  name 
for  short — the  two  newspaper  men  went  back  quietly  to 
their  work,  and  the  next  day  the  "Times' "  ticket  was 
elected  by  about  three  hundred  majority. 

That  was  business. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"The  Kicker." 

These  things  is  much  too  much  for  me; 

It's  broke  my  heart  in  two; 
It's  ru'nous  to  the  country, 

An'  it  ain't  a-gwine  to  do. 

— The  Kcnttickian's  Lament. 

"High,  Jack  and  the  Game — three  to  you'  one — puts 
me  out,  suh.  Lemme  tell  you,  young  man,  once  mo'  that 
a  Kaintucky  gentleman  who  larned  to  play  seven-up 
straddle  of  a  sycamo'  log,  with  a  monst'us  good  player, 
suh,  is  not  the  kind  of  a  person  for  you  to  tackle  in  this 
game.  You  can't  even  amuse  me,  suh.  But  I  am  con 
stantly  amused  in  other  ways  so  it  matters  very  little  in 
this  instance,  suh." 

So  spoke  "The  Kicker"  as  James  Hiram  Young  was 
generally  called  in  St.  Movadu  by  those  who  knew  h:m 
familiarly.  On  the  present  occasion  he  was  occupied  with 
one  Cyrus  Small  in  a  side  room  at  Kingsbury's,  playing 
what  used  to  be  the  "National  Game  of  Kentucky,"  other 
wise  "old  sledge"  or  "seven  up." 

(116) 


"THE  KICKER"  117 

This  Mr.  Young,  alias  'The  Kicker,"  was  a  grizzled 
old  fellow,  plainly  dressed,  but  with  linen  always  spot 
less,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  he  chewed  tobacco 
with  as  much  earnestness  and  evident  satisfaction  as  a 
cow  does  her  cud,  while  his  shoes  were  always  as 
shiney  as  the  "dago,"  under  the  awning  on  the  outside, 
could  make  them. 

Mr.  Young  almost  lived  in  the  card  rooms  at  Kings- 
bury's,  and  he  was  as  profoundly  devoted  to  the  "His 
tory  of  the  Four  Kings"  as  a  bookworm  is  to  his  books. 

Mr.  Young  would  play  any  game  of  cards  known  to 
mankind  with  any  comer,  "for  dollars  or  doughnuts,"  or 
even  for  fun,  until — if  playing  for  fun — he  found  his 
opponent  an  unequal  match. 

The  latter  he  found  Mr.  Cy  Small  to  be,  and  hence 
abruptly  closed  the  game  mentioned  at  the  beginning  of 
this  chapter,  with  the  very  candid  remark  that  that  in 
dividual  could  not  amuse  him.  There  were  two  or  three 
other  men  sitting  about  the  room,  and  Mr.  Young  went 
on  to  say; — addressing  them: 

"As  I  was  remarking,  gentlemen,  there's  lots  of  other 
things  to  amuse  one,  about  this  town.  For  instance, 
gentlemen,  take  old  John  Mackabee,  the  jestice  of  the 


118  "THE  KICKER"  * 

peace  up-sta'rs  here.  He's  got  a  picture  up  thar  of  Gin'l 
Grant  without  any  name  on  it.  The  old  man  thinks  he 
looks  like  Grant,  and  maybe  he  does.  I  dunno.  I  never 
saw  Gin'l  Grant  but  once  in  my  life,  and  I  was  in  such  a 
hurry  then  that  I  had  no  chance  to  scan  his  features  very 
much.  That  was  on  the  second  day  of  Shiloh  battle,  and 
I  had  business — pressing  business — at  a  place  called 
Corinth,  some  few  miles  further  south.  But  as  I  was  re 
marking,  the  old  judge  thinks  he  looks  like  Grant,  and 
if  you  are  at  any  time  in  real  need  of  a  tol'able  fair  seeg- 
yar  jist  go  up  and  ask  the  old  man,  in  a  sort  of  a  keerless 
sort  of  a  way,  whar  he  got  such  an  excellent  portrait  of 
himself.  Or,  if  you  don't  want  to  make  it  quite  that 
co'se,  jest  tell  him  how  much  the  picture  of  Grant  looks 
like  him.  If  old  Mack  don't  offer  you  one  of  them  tol'able 
fair  seegyars,  inside  of  less  than  a  minute,  come  back  here 
and  call  up  a  quart  of  Pom-Sec  on  the  undersigned. 

"In  this  the  old  man  Mack  reminds  me  somehow  of  all 
the  blamed  fools  who  are  holding  on  to  town  lots  in  this 
place,  with  the  notion  that  about  a  year  from  now  they 
will  sell  'em  at  riggers  that  mean  the  same  as  coverin'  the 
ground  with  twenty  dollar  bills. 

"Lemme  tell  you,  gentlemen,  befo'  the  end  of  another 


"THE  KICKER"  119 

year,  if  you  can  sell  town  lots  here  for  ten  dollars  an  acre, 
spot  cash,  I'll  swim  the  bay  and  pull  a  tug." 

This  last  remark  was  too  much  for  the  party. 

"Why  don't  you  hire  a  hall?" 

"Give  us  a  rest,  old  Kick." 

"Take  a  tumble." 

And  such  like  trite  but  expressive  slang  saluted  the 
ears  of  Mr.  Young.  Yet  he  faltered  not. 

"All  right,  gentlemen,"  he  continued;  "but  you've 
heerd  Jeemes  Hiram  Young  toot  his  hawn,  and  you  kin 
keep  on  accumulating  dirt;  but  you'll  heve  it  for  sale  at 
jedgment,  I  tell  you,  if  the  sheriff  don't  sell  it  for  you 
soonah." 

"Say,  you  make  me  sick,"  said  Mr.  Cy  Small  as  he 
rose  to  go. 

"Yes,  sah,  an'  you  make  me  sick  at  seven  up,"  retorted 
Mr.  Young.  "But  if  you  don't  hold  on  to  your  lots  any 
better  than  you  hold  a  hand  at  kyards  you  won't  have  no 
lots  to  lose  at  the  time  specified." 

"Well,  I  don't  make  my  living  at  playing  cards,"  re 
turned  Mr.  Small  as  he  passed  out. 

"From  your  onary  looks  one  would  think  you  did, 


120  "THE  KICKER" 

considerin'  how  you  play,"  was  Mr.  James  Hiram 
Young's  chasing  shot. 

"Tell  you  what  it  is,  gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  Young, 
who  then  paused. 

"Well,  what  is  it?"  came  from  one  of  the  others. . 

"It's  no  use,  I  reckon,"  said  Young.  "You  fellows 
don't  know  enough  to  know  when  to  let  go." 

Two  of  the  other  men  passed  into  the  main  room  of 
the  saloon,  and  Mr.  Young  was  left  with  the  remaining 
individual,  who  seemed  disposed  to  listen. 

Young's  croakings  amused  him. 

"Mr.  Talcott,"  said  Young,  addressing  his  last  man, 
"it's  a  waste  of  raw  material  talking  to  these  suckers 
about  this  whoop-em-up  place.  But  lemme  tell  you;  I've 
been  through  more  mining  camp  flare-ups  and  real  es 
tate  booms  than  I  can  recollect,  and  no  mo'  of  'em  will 
ketch  Jeemes  Hiram.  What's  to  make  a  town  hyah? 
Thar  ain't  no  pay  roll,  except  the  work  on  streets  and 
such  like;  and  the  tax-payers  pay  that.  Whar's  ther  any 
factories  or  the  like  of  that?  Not  hyar.  Every  fellow 
that's  got  a  few  dollars  is  blowing  himself  in  on  town 
lots  and  waiting  to  sell  for  big  figures.  The  top  notch 
has  been  reached,  suh,  and  the  ball's  ovah." 


•  "THE  KICKER"  121 

"Do  you  really  think  so?"  interjected  Mr.  Talcott. 

"Think  so?  I  know  so,"  returned  Mr.  Young. 
"There's  too  blamed  much  of  everything  hyar,  suh,  ex 
cept  common,  every  day  horse  sense,  suh.  Too  much 
religion — of  its  kind.  The  kind  that  would  make  the 
Apostles  weep  to  see  how  much  hypocrisy  and  sham  and 
selfishness  thar  is  in  it,  suh.  Thar's  too  much  building 
for  the  number  of  people  and  the  lack  of  use  for  the 
houses.  Thar's  too  much  buying  and  selling  on  credit. 
Thar's  too  much  ground  platted  for  miles  and  miles 
around  town.  Thar's  too  much  champagne  drunk  by 
people  that  never  knew  the  taste  of  it  a  year  ago,  suh. 
And  there's  too  much  shoddyism,  suh. 

"Listen  at  them  young  roosters  out  thar  drinking  Pom 
Sec  at  the  countah,  like  haugs  at  a  trough,  and  jingling 
ther  money  on  the  boa'd  like  it  grew  on  trees.  They'll 
see  the  day — an'  mighty  soon — when  they'll  be  glad  to 
see  an  angel  in  the  shape  of  a  stranger  who  will  come 
along  and  set  up  plain,  common,  cookin'  whisky;  an' 
them  angels  will  be  monst'ous  skeerce.  You  heah  Jeemes 
Hiram  howlin'.  Have  a  game  of  crib?" 

Mr.  Talcott  was  willing. 


CHAPTER  X. 
Duncan's  Keturn. 

The  sun  just  tipped  the  trees  with  light, 
Their  lengthening  shadows  fell  by  mine, 

And  in  the  far-off  distance,  bright 
I  saw  the  gleaming  steeples  shine 
.    And  sun-set  gild  the  waving  pine. 

— My  Village  Home. 

Society  had  been  doing  its  peculiar  work  in  every 
direction  in  St.  Movadu.  It  had  set  up  its  churches,  or 

•  * 

rather  its  idols;  it  had  ostracised  by  its  own  insidious  and 
invidious  ways  women  whose  clothes  were  not  au  fait 
and  men  who  thought  out  loud,  yet  not  in  its  thin  vein. 
There  had  really  gotten  to  be  stratum  of  society  that 
worked  cruelly  from  top  to  bottom. 

One  day  at  Mrs.  Phelps'  there  was  quite  a  gathering 
of  the  particular  set  that  affected  Mrs.  Phelps,  and  which 
she  affected.  Among  these  were  Mrs.  Pugh  and  her  two 
daughters.  They  were  almost  too  nice  for  anything  on 
earth.  There  were  others  that  this  story  cannot  afford 
to  manipulate  personally,  for  the  story  has  some  strong 

(122) 


DUNCAN'S  RETURN  123 

ambitions,  and  except  for  the  same  purpose  that  the 
machinist's  "waste"  is  used  about  a  train  of  cars,  to  clean 
the  engine  and  wipe  off  surplus,  old,  spoiled  grease,  the 
personnel  of  these  other  people  will  be  avoided  as  much 
as  possible. 

Little  Miss  Fan  Pugh  remarked  to  Mrs.  Phelps  that 
she  couldn't  understand  what  so  many,  even  fairly  re 
spectable  men  in  the  city,  could  see  about  that  stuck-up 
school-marm,  Ada  Benson,  and  Mrs.  Pugh  said: 

"Why,  darling,  should  you  bother  your  head  about 
such  people." 

Mrs.  Phelps,  in  a  complacent  way,  remarked  that  Mrs. 
Pugh  was  too  severe  with  Miss  Fan  because  the  highest 
class  of  society  frequently  discussed  live  stock  that  was 
not  even  blooded.  Then  Miss  Sally  Pugh,  the  younger 
of  the  august  Madame  Pugh's  daughters,  simpered:  "I 
think  it  is  well  enough  to  talk  of  anything  on  the  face  of 
nature,  if  one  had  the  time  to  spare,  and  it  was  not  alto 
gether  too  disgusting." 

There  was  a  rattle  and  cackle  of  the  smallest  kind  of 
that  sort  of  small  talk,  until  finally  Mrs.  Phelps  re 
marked: 

"I  see  that  that  shambling  old  fright,  Duncan,  has 


124  DUNCAN'S  RETURN 

come  back,  and  some  people  are  treating  him  as  if  he  was 

somebody." 

"Ada  Benson  has  made  him  her  protege,"  remarked 
Miss  Fanny  Pugh. 

"And  her  delectable  sweetheart,  Jack  Lacy,  has  taken 
the  coarse  old  wretch  under  his  special  charge,"  chipped 
in  the  other  Pugh  girl. 

"Pah!  let  us  say  no  more  about  such  people,"  chimed 
in  the  mother  of  the  simpering  sisters. 

The  Pughs,  John  Charles,  his  wife,  the  latter  the  ma 
jestic  lieutenant  of  Madame  Phelps,  and  the  two 
daughters,  had  arrived  at  St.  Movadu  quite  early  in  the 
settlement  of  the  young  city.  Mr.  Pugh  had  brought 
with  him  some  hundreds  of  dollars  that  had  come  to 
him  from  some  unexpected  source,  and  he  had  launched 
with  that  feeble  capital  wildly  into  the  early  real  estate 
speculations  of  the  phenomenal  place.  He  had  been  suc 
cessful  in  turning  town  lots  quite  rapidly,  and  had  become 
one  of  the  financial  pillars  of  the  First  National  bank 
of  St.  Movadu. 

The  home  of  the  Pugh's  was  on  the  eastern  extremity 
of  Duncan  avenue,  perhaps  five  blocks  from  the  business 
center  of  the  city,  but  for  one  of  the  females  of  that  estab- 


DUNCAN'S  RETURN  125 

lishment  to  have  attempted  to  reach  such  a  distance  on 
foot  and  without  the  pony  and  phaeton  affected  by  the 
family  wpuld  have  been  too  utterly  out  of  the  question. 

About  the  time  that  the  conversation  above — if  such 
chatter  could  be  called  a  conversation — took  place,  Jack 
Lacy  and  Mr.  Pugh  happened  to  meet  in  a  friendly  way 
at  the  bank  corner  where  Major  Stamina  and  Van  Waters 
had  held, a  few  weeks  before, the  chat  which  was  recorded 
in  an  earlier  chapter  of  these  chronicles. 

With  the  ostentation  that  had  taken  possession  of  Mr. 
John  Charles  Pugh  since  his  successful  residence  in  St. 
Movadu,  he  addressed  Lacy  with  the  patronizing  air  gen 
erally  offered  by  him  to  persons  whom  he  attempted  to 
consider  far  from  being  his  social  and  business  equals. 

"Ah,  Lacy,  been  doing  anything  in  the  way  of  verse 
lately?  I  have  often  thought  of  late  that  perhaps  our  city 
would  be  doing  itself  some  benefit  if  it  paid  more  atten 
tion  to  men  like  yourself  who  do  so  much  in  the  way  of 
advertising  us  by  your  really  attractive  literary  work." 

"The  city  can  save  itself  any  feeling  of  charitable  anx 
iety  on  my  part  in  regard  to  my  work.  My  books  seem 
to  be  taking  care  of  themselves,  and  they  are  certainly 
taking  care  of  me." 


126  DUNCAN'S  RETURN 

"I  thought,"  returned  Mr.  Pugh,  "that  as  your  poetry 
is  being  widely  quoted  throughout  the  country,  and  your 
stories  speak  so  frequently  in  advantageous  terms  of  this 
region  and  its  great  resources,  it  would  be  doing  only  a 
fairness  to  you  to  give  these  facts  such  public  attention 
as  might  be  of  some  financial  value  to  you." 

"I  appreciate  your  motive  of  charity,  Mr.  Pugh,  but 
not  being  at  present  in  need  of  charitable  attention,  you 
would  please  me  more  by  dismissing  the  subject." 

"Oh,  I  meant  no  harm,  I  meant  no  harm,"  said  Mr. 
Pugh,  with  a  doublet  that  was  a  sort  of  finical  habit  of 
the  great  man,  since  he  had  become  a  bank  director,  and 
of  reputed  wealth,  the  head  of  a  family  particularly  re 
marked  for  its  ultra  "elegant"  station  in  fashionable  life. 

"By  the  way,"  somewhat  abruptly  remarked  Lacy, 
"I  have  been  trying  to  remember  for  some  time  where  it 
was  I  first  met  you,  Mr.  Pugh,  and  it  has  just  occurred  to 
me.  Once,  two  or  three  years  ago,  I  was  a  guest  at  the 
Hotel  dei  Monte  and  it  became  necessary  for  me,  with  a 
party  of  other  friends,  to  hire  bathing  dresses — " 

"Great  heavens,  Lacy,  say  no  more!  There  is  no 
occasion  to  recall  things  like  that,  and  I  have  no  disposi 
tion  to  be  arrogant  with  my  wealth — in  fact,  have  only 


DUNCAN'S  RETURN  127 

the  kindliest  feelings  for  all  people — but  there  is  an  in 
fluence  in  my  family  that  possibly  may  cause  me  to  seem 
to  you  purse-proud  and  over-bearing.  I  assure  you,  my 
dear  fellow,  it  is  all  only  the  result  of  -some  habits  that 
have  grown  too  rapidly  among  the  more  successful  set 
tlers  of  St.  Movadu,  who  had  been  placed  all  their  lives 
before  in  inferior  social  positions." 

"Pugh,  I  have  no  desire  to  recall  anything  that  would 
be  calculated  to  hurt  you  or  yours,  in  whatever  of  social 
aspirations  you  may  have,  contemptible  as  it  all  is  to 
me;  but  I  would  like  to  convey  to  you  the  fact  that  there 
are  those  with  whom  I  am  associated  in  the  warmest 
terms  of  friendship  who  have  been  pettily  annoyed  by  as 
sumptions  of  patncianism  from  sources  with  which  you 
are  acquainted  and  connected,  and  I  think  that  this  hint 
may  have  a  tendency  to  put  an  end  to  that.  I  hope  so,  at 
least,  and  assure  you  that  suggestion  is  not  to  be  ascribed 
to  a  desire  on  my  part  or  that  of  any  of  my  friends  to 
ascend  to  the  dizzy  heights  on  the  social  scale  which  you 
and  yours  now  occupy." 

After  some  other  little  conversation  of  this  character, 
in  a  friendly  way  as  to  both,  the  two  parted,  Jack  Lacy 
having  during  it  all  assured  the  capitalist  that  that  dis- 


128  DUNCAN'S  RETURN 

tinguished  individual  had  nothing  to  fear  from  the  gar 
rulity  of  the  Bohemian. 

The  reader  may  be  interested  to  know  that  the  facts 
referred  to  by  Lacy  concerning  Mr.  Pugh's  residence  at 
the  Hotel  del  Monte  were  simply  these.  John  Pugh, 
who  had  not  then  so  pompously  fixed  the  "Charles"  into 
the  longitudinative  of  his  name,  was  employed  at  that 
famous  hostelry  some  years  before  in  charge  of  the  rental 
and  care  of  the  bathing  suits  used  by  the  guests  of  the 
hotel.  It  was  the  duty  of  the  then  not  so  august  Madame 
Pugh  and  her  engaging  daughters  to  wash  and  mend 
those  same  hired  bathing  suits,  all  four  gaining  by  their 
combined  and  comprehensive  manipulation  of  the  gar 
ments  thus  for  hire  to  the  bathers  of  that  famous  resort, 
something  in  the  nature  of  a  tolerable  livelihood. 

It  happened  to  be  also  a  fact  that  Mr_  John  Charles  Pugh 
had  always  been  possessed  with  an  appetite  frequently 
recurring  for  liquid  stimulants.  He  had  not  been  a 
drunkard  because  his  pecuniary  capacity  lacked  sufficient 
strength  and  breadth  to  very  frequently  purchase  the  nec 
essary  quantity  of  stimulating  beverages  to  lift  him  to  the 
exhilerated  heights  of  one  who  becomes  intoxicated,  or 


DUNCAN'S  RETURN  129 

sink  him  to  the  appalling  depths  of  one  who  is  frequently 
successful  in  that  way. 

Besides  this,  there  was  the  over-awing  presence  of  his 
forcible  spouse,  who  was  as  majestic  and  august  to  Mr. 
John  Charles  Pugh  in  the  small  apartment  they  occupied 
upon  the  grounds  of  the  Hotel  del  Monte,  as  she  was 
among  the  ambitious  "400"  of  St.  Movadu. 

However,  when  the  occasion  occurred  that  Mr.  John 
Charles  Pugh  was  enabled  to  secure  something  in  the 
nature  of  an  occasional  imbibition,  his  manner  of  obtain 
ing  it  was  to  call  at  a  rear  side  door  of  the  Hotel  del 
Monte  and  by  certain  signs  and  whistlings  attract  the  at 
tention  of  one  of  the  gentlemen  in  white  who  presided 
at  that  dispensatory  of  liquid  refreshments,  and  if  the 
gentleman  in  white  happened  at  that  moment  to  be  suffi 
ciently  of  a  kindly  disposition  toward  Mr.  John  Charles 
Pugh,  the  glass  of  something  so  much  desifed  by  Pugh 
was  sent  to  him  to  the  back  door  by  the  person  who  hap 
pened  to  be  employed  about  the  bar  to  perform  such  er 
rands. 

Mr.  John  Charles  Pugh  being  a  menial  about  the  hotel, 
was  not  allowed  to  bring  himself  into  contact  with  the 
respectable  guests  of  the  hotel.  • 


130  DUNCAN'S  RETURN 

As  to  this  same  Hotel  del  Monte,  pardon,  dear  reader, 
a  short  digression: 

Ye  who  have  seen  and  enjoyed  the  scenic  beauties  of 
the  lands  beyond  the  seas;  who  have  sailed  up  the  broad 
and  beautiful  Rhine,  where  ivy-covered  castles  crown  the 
rugged  cliffs;  by  fair  and  storied  Bingen;  and  to  where 
the  silvery  Main  joins  the  mighty  stream;  where  Ger- 
mania  stands  guard,  and  tradition  and  legend  enriches  the 
romance  of  it  all;  ye  who  have  stood  in  Venice  on  the 
bridge  of  the  Rialto,  or  have  sailed  on  Naples'  far- 
famed  bay  and  watched  from  there  the  smoke  ribbons 
that  stream  from  the  mountain  top,  fabled  as  the  Cyclop- 
ian  forge,  whence  came  the  thunderbolts  of  Jove;  ye  that 
have  wandered  among  the  wonders  of  the  world  and  the 
tokens  of  the  ages,  where  the  mighty  pyramids  and  the 
silent  sphinx  stand  mute  yet  eloquent  witnesses  of  Ptol- 
emic  history.  Ye  who  have  loitered  amid  the  ruins  of 
druidical  masonry;  along  by  the  Isles  of  Erin,  and  by  the 
lochs  of  Scotia ;  lazed  where  the  sun  glints  the  minarets  of 
mosques  and  lounged  beneath  the  banyan's  shade;  ye 
who  have  crossed  the  ocean  and  the  Alps,  if  you  have  not 
seen  the  rose  and  vine  and  orange  grown  shores  of  the 
placid  Pacific,  down  the  coast  of  California,  you  have 


DUNCAN'S  RETURN  131 

only  been  led  by  books,  and  tales,  and  have  not  seen  the 
beauty  of  entrancing  nature  at  her  best,  and  have  not 
known  how  genial  may  be  her  smiles. 

Along  that  coast,  associated  with  what  seems  to  be 
almost  ancient  lore;  amid  the  old  missions  of  the  early 
padres  whose  adobe  walls  are  falling  now,  at  one  point 
lies  the  splendid  bay  of  Monterey,  an  almost  encircled 
pool  of  old  ocean. 

Near  the  opening  from  the  ocean  on  the  south  side 
stands  the  old  seaport  town,  with  its  air  of  sabbath  quiet. 
Further  toward  the  east  and  north,  back  a  decent  distance 
from  the  white  and  easy  sloping  beach,  stands  a  glorious 
and  modern  pile — the  Hotel  del  Monte. 

Giant,  listless,  scattering  and  scraggy  oaks  stand  here 
and  there,  grim  and  superannuated,  waiting  with  con 
temptuous  contemplation  their  end,  amid  such  company  . 
as  f©stered  and  petted  palms  and  voluptuous  groupings 
of  other  trees  and  flowers,  plants  and  vines. 

The  somewhat  gently  imposing  structure  lifted  among 
varied  and  unfamiliar  foliage,  is  a  delightful  resort,  not 
only  because  of  the  strange  yet  charming  surroundings, 
the  genial  climate  and  the  air  of  modern  romance,  but  be 
cause  the  people  one  meets  there,  unless  of  your  own 


132  DUNCAN'S  RETURN 

party  and  importance,  are  nearly  sure  to  be  total 
strangers  to  one  another.  Familiarity  is  confined  to 
groups;  and  yet  there  is  an  atmosphere  of  freedom  and 
an  absence  of  supercilliousness. 

One  hardly  expects  that  in  such  a  place  can  be  such 
a  sordid  thing  as  the  business  of  running  the  hotel. 
But  hotels  never  run,  in  these  days,  and  probably  never 
did  in  any  other  day,  without  those  unromantic  details. 

There  is  a  saloon;  but  the  liquors  are  sold  in  the  usual 
business  way,  and  are  measured  and  mixed  just  as  they 
are  in  any  other  gin  mill — what  a  horrid  word  in  such  a 
scene — and  there  are  kitchens,  and  cooks,  dishwashers, 
laundry  people,  the  barber  shops,  and  in  and  through 
all  the  details  of  the  great  hostelry  are  the  favorings,  the 
bickerings,  the  complaints,  and  the  petty  meannesses  that 
exist  in  any  other  big  hotel,  or  other  great  domestic  ag 
gregation  and  establishment. 

Among  this  help  was  the  Pugh  contingent.  The 
father  had  a  fairly  soft  thing  in  tne  matter  of  being  a 
general  help,  or  a  sort  of  aggrandized  chore-boy,  aside 
from  his  bathing  suit  business,  because  he  was  handy 
and  had  once  helped  to  pull  the  general  manager  of  the 
hotel  out  of  the  debris  of  a  railway  wreck  and  tended  him 


DUNCAN'S  RETURN  133 

at  a  nearby  station  while  he  lay  with  a  broken  leg  waiting 
for  the  fractured  bone  to  knit  together  sufficiently  to  pre 
vent  its  being  jarred  apart  in  the  process  of  transportation 
to  his  hotel  home,  whither  he  took  with  him  his  faithful 
nurse. 

It  was  thus  that  Mr.  John  Pugh,  with  his  domestic  ag 
gregation,  became  established  at  the  Hotel  del  Monte. 

A  windfall,  however,  of  a  few  dollars,  a  change  of  base 
to  a  young  city  built  in  a  distan  forest,  the  fortunate  turn 
of  some  score  of  town  lots,  altered  to  a  remarkable  de 
gree  the  social  standing  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  John  Charles 
Pugh  and  their  two  engaging  daughters.  It  had  made 
the  difference  between  renting,  washing  and  mending 
bathing  garments  for  hire  to  the  habitues  of  a  seaside 
resort  and  occupying  the  position  of  imposing  lights  in 
the  firmament  of  a  parvenu  society. 

Quite  a  difference! 


CHAPTER  XL 
Another  Rip  Van  Winkle. 

We've  had  some  ups  and  downs  in  life, 

And  growin'  sorter  old, 
With  hearts  as  warm  as  ever, 

And  they  never  will  git  cold, 
So  fur  as  him  and  me's  consarned; 

Not  even  over  thar, 
When  aft  are  called  to  answer 

At  the  final  jedgement  bar. 

— Old  Mart  and  Me. 

The  railroad  had  not  done  all  for  St.  Movadu  that  the 
place  had  expected,  and  that  had  been  promised  by  that 
corporation. 

An  undercurrent  of  anxiety  and  fear  had  begun  to  be 
felt.  Some  of  those  who  had  "made  their  stake"  were 
quietly  "going  to  the  springs"  and  not  returning.  Sev 
eral  business  failures  had  occurred,  and  old  Dan  Duncan 
had  drifted  back  to  St.  Movadu  to  see  something  about 
the  town  lots  he  had  bought  in  that  place,  out  of  the 
vast  amount  of  land  which  he  had  once  owned  and  sold 
to  be  the  site  of  a  city. 

(134) 


ANOTHER  RIP  VAN  WINKLE  135 

Major  Stamina  with  all  his  pluck  and  perseverance  had 
fought  with  a  bravery  that  was  his  own  the  threatening 
depression,  and  many  had  been-  the  serious  and  anxious 
consultations  between  himself  and  sanguine  Van  Waters, 
who  never  for  a  moment  had  dropped  his  roseate  ways  of 
presenting  in  his  newspaper  the  beauties,  and  possibilities 
of  St.  Movadu  and  its  surroundings. 

Nevertheless  the  fact  that  bad  news  always  travels 
swiftly  had  by  this  time  reached  those  most  deeply  in 
terested. 

It  had  been  generally  understood  in  the  city  that  Dan 
Duncan,  unaccustomed  to  the  use  of  large  sums  of 
money,  had  in  San  Francisco  and  other  cities  ridden  like 
the  proverbial  beggar  on  horseback  to  the  devil,  and  that 
there  was  nothing  left  of  the  one  hundred  thousand  dol 
lars  that  had  been  paid  to  him  for  the  land  upon  which 
this  ambitious  city  had  been  built,  saving  the  few  lots  he 
had  bought  at  Major  Stamina's  suggestion. 

Duncan,  however,  had  a  wiser  head  than  he  had  been 
generally  credited  with;  and  yet  he  had  a  still  tongue. 
Upon  his  arrival  he  took  quarters  at  the  Woodworth 
house,  the  same  hotel  where  Jack  Lacy  was  dom 
iciled. 


136  ANOTHER  RIP  VAN  WINKLE 

Lacy  took  an  interest  in  the  old  man.  He  saw  that 
there  were  signs  of  weakness  and  illness  about  him,  and 
used  his  influence,  which  was  almost  the  same  as  that  of 
a  son,  with  the  old  proprietor  of  the  house  to  place  Dun 
can  in  a  room  adjoining  his  own. 

In  his  Bohemian  way,  despite  his  faithful  work  as  a 
reporter  on  the  "Times,"  and  as  a  writer  of  novels  and 
poems,  he  always  found  plenty  of  leisure,  and  thus  he  and 
Duncan  w-andered  much  over  the  city,  the  old  man  in 
constant  wonder  at  the  changes  that  had  been  wrought. 

Here  was,  in  truth,  another  Rip  Van  Winkle,  but  better 
than  Irving's  old  man,  for  here  and  there  he  had  on  the 
plat  which  he  carried  with  him,  obtained  from  the  town- 
site  company,  dotted  with  much  pleasure  to  himself  the 
Httle  pieces  of  ground  that  were  all  his  own. 

One  day  Duncan,  in  a  backward  and  bashful  sort 
of  way,  denied  himself  the  ordinary  round  about  the  city 
with  his  new-found  friend.  That  day  and  all  the  next  he 
moped  about  the  office  of  the  Woodworth  house,  and  on 
the  third  day  did  not  leave  his  room.  He  persisted  in 
declaring  that  he  was  not  very  ill,  but  Jack,  anxious  about 
him,  brought  Dr.  Somerset  to  see  him,  and  the  doctor, 
with  perhaps  more  interest  in  Jack  Lacy's  concern  than 


ANOTHER  RIP  VAN  WINKLE  137 

in  the  old  man's  health,  gave  the  ancient  rancher  a  closer 
attention  than  he  perhaps  otherwise  would  have  done, 
believing  that  Duncan  was  notJ  seriously  ill. 

Old  Duncan's  weakness  increased,  however,  until  he 
became  actually  bedridden,  and  then  Lacy  told  Ada 
Benson  all  about  him,  and  meekly  suggested  that  she 
come  and  see  him. 

This  she  was  quick  to  do,  and  at  once  became  inter 
ested  in  the  invalid,  with  an  earnestness  that  even  aston 
ished  Lacy. 

"I  am  strangely  drawn  toward  your  old  friend,"  she 
said,  "and  I  want  him  to  get  well." 

But  Duncan  became  weaker  as  the  days  went  by. 

He  seemed  grateful,  in  his  simple  wav,  for  her  atten 
tions,  and  would  call  Lacy  and  Ada  "son"  arid  "honey." 

This  illness  of  the  old  man's,  under  the  constant  atten 
tion  of  the  lovers,  had  gone  on  perhaps  a  week,  when, not 
withstanding  the  fact  that  he  had  often  heard  the  name  of 
"Ada,"  he  arose  upon  his  elbow  one  evening  strongly  ex 
cited,  when,  perhaps  for  th^  first  time,  he  had  noticed  her 
additional  name  of  Benson. 

He  gazed  for  a  moment,  wildly,  into  her  face  a.nd,  then 


138  ANOTHER  RIP  VAN  WINKLE 

falling  back  upon    his  pillow,  overcome    by  weakness, 

beckoned  to  Jack  and  said: 

"I  want  to  talk  with  you,  when  I'm  stronger,  upon  a 
serious  subject  of  importance  to  you  and  your  sweet 
heart." 

And  that  was  the  beginning  of  the  end. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

An  Opera  Opening. 

'Neath  this  broad  dome  night  after  night 

For  many  a  coming  year; 
'Neath  all  the  golden,  dazzling  light 

From  yon  bright  chandelier, 
Shall  come  the  man,  the  maid,  the  dame, 

To  drink  from  pleasure's  cup, 
And  see  the  actor  strive  for  fame 

And  hold  the  mirror  up. 

— A  Modern  Temple. 

The  lovers  of  art,  they  of  Bohemian  pastes,  who  were 

* 

not  a  few  in  St.  Movadu,  had  watched  the  construction  of 
the  new  opera  house,  from  the  day  "ground  was  broken" 
for  the  excavation  of  its  basement,  until  the  facades  rose 
high,  handsome,  chaste  and  commanding. 

The  interior  of  the  imposing  building  was  finished  in 
the  excellent  woods,  fir,  cedar  and  pine,  of  the  region, 
while  other  lands  had  been  drawn  upon  for  the  great 
plates  of  glass,  the  carpetings,  tapestries,  draperies,  light 
ing  and  ventilating  apparatus,  and  general  furnishings  of 
this  temple  of  the  muses. 

(139) 


140  AN  OPERA  OPENING 

Every  step  toward  the  completion  of  the  superb  edifice 
had  been  anxiously  watched,  and  the  day  of  its  opening 
and  dedication  had  at  last  arrived. 

This  was  a  gala  day  in  St.  Movadu.  Nearly  every 
adult  person  in  the  city,  and  those  who  were  nearing 
manhood  and  womanhood,  were  deeply  interested;  most 
deeply  those  who  were  lovers  of  art,  for  such  a  theatre 
is  always  a  nucleus  of  many  arts.  The  highest  art  in 
architecture  had  been  called  to  the  construction  and 
ornamentation  of  the  superstructure,  in  this  instance; 
the  art  of  weaving  beautiful  hangings  and  carpets  for  the 
interior  furnishings;  the  art  of  painting  grand  pictures 
that  were  hung  upon  the  walls;  the  art  of  carving  marble 
into  the  imagery  of  breathing  life  for  the  statues  and  stat 
uettes  in  niches  about  the  foyer.  Then  were  to  come  the. 
arts  of  music  and  acting,  and  with  these,  whatever  of  art 
that  was  necessary  in  the  mechanical  and  scenic  accces- 
sories  of  the  operas  and  dramas  to  be  produced. 

Thus  the  art  loving  element  of  St.  Movadu  was  wide 
awake  for  the  occasion. 

The  settlement  of  western  cities  draws  from  the  popu 
lation  of  the  enlightened  world.  And  even  from  some  of 
those  portions  of  this  mundane  ball  that  do  not  come 


AN  OPERA  OPENING  141 

with  good  warrant,  under  this  complimentary  head.  Sons 
and  daughters  of  excellent  families,  sometimes  financially 
strained,  have  frequently,  under  the  advice  of  the  Chappa- 
quan  sage,  gone  to  western — often  very  far  western — 
towns  and  cities,  in  search  of  health  or  fortune,  or  both; 
taking  with  them  the  accomplishments  and  excellent 
tastes  acquired  in  the  pure  and  wholesome  homes  they 
had  left  in  the  rose-tinted  and  magnolia  bowered  south, 
or  the  prim  and  intellectual  east.  Thus  St.  Movadu, 
with  its  ten  thousand  stirring  people,  had  a  large  contin 
gent  of  those  lovers  of  art  and  good  taste  and  a  still  larger 
contingent  .of  the  nouveaux  riches,  that,  parvenu-like, 
made  much  pretense  in  the  same  direction.  Far  more 
pretense  indeed,  than  others;  for  their  assumptions  in  this 
direction  were  all  pretense;  except  in  a  few  individual  in 
stances,  where  the  mania  for  show  and  the  constant 
attempt  at  arrogance  had  not  been  able  to  overcome 
the  in-born  artistic  proclivities  of  some  young  member 
of  such  a  household. 

Besides  those  who  were  delighted  over  the  completion 
of  the  opera  house  because  of  the  pleasure  it  would  bring, 
were  those  who  regarded  the  handsome  building  as  an 
architectural  addition  that  would, in  its  way,advance  their 


142  AN  OPERA  OPENING 

pecuniary  interests,  as  an   attractive  ornament  to  the 

young  city. 

In  that  was  a  sort  of  patriotism,  and  selfish  though  it 
generally  was,  it  was  far  more  commendable  than  the  de 
light  of  the  purse-proud  and  affected  parvenus  who  could 
see  in  the  new  and  glorious  building  only  another  field 
where  they  could  spread  themselves,  as  a  strutting  pea 
cock  does  the  prismatic  colors  of  his  tail  feathers,  and 
lord  it  over  their  betters. 

It  was  the  opening  night  of  the  St.  Movadu  opera- 
house,  and  the  gorgeous  auditorium  was  a  blaze  of  light 
from  a  thousand  incandescent  lamps,  with  which  the  pro- 
cenium,  the  dome,  the  pillars,  the  boxes,  the  balconies, 
the  foyer,  the  reception  rooms,  the  door-way  arches,  and 
all  seemingly  available  places  of  the  interior  and  en 
trances,  were  trimmed. 

Occasional  showers  came  down  about  the  time  the  audi 
ence  was  gathering,  and  in  front  were  heard  the  com 
paratively  suppressed  noises  of  vehicles  and  the  calls  of 
their  drivers,  taking  their  turn  at  the  port-cochere,  where 
were  alighting  the  superbly  dressed  people  of  the  wealth 
ier  class  that  came  in  carriages,  with  now  and  then  some 
over-brave  and  gallant  clerk,  who  was  expending  a 


AN  OPERA  OPENING  143 

week's  salary  in  escorting  in  this  manner,  to  the  opera, 
the  stylish  young  lady  whom  he  affected  and  who  was 
willing  to  have  him  strain  his  finances  while  buzzing 
about  her,  until  she  got  ready  to  marry  some  other  man, 
whose  establishment  was  far  more  permanent. 

A  dense  umbrella-covered  crowd  was  at  the  main  en 
trance,  slowly  obtaining  ingress,  and  the  foyer  was  full 
of  men  in  evening  dress,  with  much  display  of  shirt  front, 
collars  and  cuffs,  waiting  for  their  ladies,  who  were  de 
positing  wraps  in  the  reception  room,  obtaining  a  glance  at 
a  mirror,  petting  a  rebellious  bang,  or  training  a  straying 
lock,  smoothing  a  ruffled  bit  of  lace — the  momentary  ad 
justment  of  feminine  pieces  of  adornment. 

The  theatre  was  filling,  the  cigarette  young  men  were 
inanely  chatting  and  posing  in  the  smoking  room,  and 
the  proscenium  boxes  were  receiving  their  parties  of  dif 
ferent  kinds. 

The  three  boxes  on  the  left — two  below  and  one  above 
— were  occupied  by  the  creme-de-la-creme  of  parvenu 
society — the  ultra  leaders  of  "The  Four  Hundred"  so  to 
speak. 

There  had  been  much  flutter,  for  several  days  before, 
in  securing  the  use  of  these  boxes  for  the  Pu^hs,  the 


144  AN  OPERA  OPENING 

Phelpses  and  the  K*eens,  in  order  that  the  exclusiveness 
of  their  very  exclusive  set  should  not  be  encroached  upon 
by  such  a  "mixed  gathering"  as  would  attend  the  opera 
on  this  special  occasion. 

Jack  Lacy — because  he  was  the  author  of  the  dedica 
tion  poem,  that  was  printed  in  the  program  book,  an  ex 
quisite  souvenir  brochure  for  the  opening  night,  and  be 
cause  he  was  the  intimate  friend  of  the  manager — had 
been  offered  a  box;  but  had  preferred  seats  elsewhere, 
for  himself  and  Ada  Benson,  in  order  that  he  might  see 
the  performance  on  the  stage  without  the  conspicuity  of 
a  box. 

The  other  boxes  were  occupied  by  parties  of  men  about 
town,  the  clerks  and  their  stylish  young  ladies  before 
mentioned,  and  others. 

The  theatre  was  filled  in  every  seat,  and,  from  the  stage, 
the  dress  circle  and  balcony  seemed  a  great  human  bou 
quet,  when  the  first  swell  of  harmony  from  the  orchestra 
rolled  out  into  the  auditorium,  the  notes  seeking  echo 
among  the  nooks  and  corners  that  had  been  strange  to 
other  music  than  the  tap  of  hammers  and  the  usual 
sounds  of  house-building. 

There  was  much  rustling  of  the  pretty  programs  a.§ 


AN  OPERA  OPENING  145 

they  were  eagerly  perused  by  hundreds,  and  that  were 
afterward  carelersly  preserved,  Hy  most  of  the  people,  as 
souvenirs  of  the  occasion,  and  1-:  the  future  reading  of 
Jack  Lacy's  dedication  poem,  which  was  as  follows: 

Not  many  short  and  fleeting  years, 

With  all  their  hopes,  and  joys,  and  fears, 

Have  marched  unhalting  to  the  dead, 

With  steady,  stern  and  silent  tread, 

Since  o'er  the  hills  and  valleys  here 

The  red  man  chased  the  panting  deer. 

And  by  the  blue  Pacific's  tide  , 

The  warrior  wooed  his  dusky  bride; 

Not  long  ago,  where  now  we  stand, 

With  blessings  rich,  on  every  hand, 

The  war-whoop  through  the  forest  rang, 

Among  the  pines  the  wild  winds  sang; 

The  screams  of  eagles  in  the  air 

Met  echo  in  the  gray  wolf's  lair; 

The  bison,  with  his  shaggy  mane, 

Grazed,  all  unharmed,  upon  the  plain; 

The  paddle  of  the  light  canoe 

Flashed  where  the  water-lilies  grew; 

In  nature's  garb  the  land  was  drest, 

From  mountain's  foot  to  craggy  crest, 

And  all  was  fresh,  untouched  and  wild, 


146  AN  OPERA  OPENING 

The  free  home  of  the  forest  child. 
But  soon,  from  toward  the  rising  sun, 
Was  heard  the  white  man's  axe  and  gun; 
The  forest  bowed  before  his  hand, 
And  as  a  garden  bloomed  the  land; 
Fair  cities  decked  the  boundless  west, 
And  here,  the  fairest  and  the  best 
Sprang  up,  as  if  the  builder's  arm 
Was  aided  by  a  magic  charm. 

The  rarest  of  the  glist'ning  gems 

That  deck  the  city's  brow — 
The  brightest  in  her  diadem, 

Is  this  we're  setting  now; 
And  'neath  the  sun,  no  fairer  shine, 

Since  Delphi,  lost  so  long, 
Was  ever  lifted  to  the  Nine 

Of  Art,  and  Soul,  and  Song. 

'Neath  this  broad  dome,  night  after  night, 

For  many  a  coming  year — 
'Neath  all  the  golden,  dazzling  light, 

From  yon  bright  chandelier, 
Shall  come  the  man,  the  maid,  the  dame, 

To  drink  from  pleasure's  cup, 
And  see  the  actor  strive  for  fame, 

And  hold  the  mirror  up. 


AN  OPERA  OPENING  147 

The  waking  thoughts  of  Avon's  bard, 

His  hero,  king  and  clown, 
His  guileless  maid,  and  bearded  pard, 

And  monk,  in  cowl,  and  gown, 
Shall  often  picture  on  this  stage, 

The  passions,  loves  and  hates, 
Of  every  nation,  land  and  age 

Outside  the  pearly  gates. 

The  soldier,  lady-love  and  king, 

Who  came  at  Bulwer's  call, 
Shall  make  their  gallant  speeches  ring 

And  echo  through  this  hall, 
And  birds  of  song  their  notes  shall  trill 

'Mid  orange  groves  and  palms, 
And  every  heart  shall  feel  the  thrill 

Of  music's  potent  charms. 

& 

Here  England's  pursy  Knight  shall  wince 

Before  the  Windsor  fays, 
And  Denmark's  melancholy  prince 

Shall  call  his  mimic  plays, 
And  handle  Yorick's  fleshless  pate, 

And  break  Ophelia's  heart, 
And  taming  handsome,  shrewish  Kate, 

Petruchio'll  play  his  part, 


148  AN  OPERA  OPENING 

Here  Lear,  "every  inch  a  king," 

Shall  wear  his  monstrous  woes, 
And  Juliet  to  her  lover  cling 

Till  death's  releasing  throes; 
Macbeth  shall  rue  his  murd'rous  deeds 

In  crime's  entangling  mesh, 
And  Shylock,  with  revengeful  greed, 

Demand  his  pound  of  flesh. 

And  hunch-back  Richard,  cruel,  vile, 

Shall  meet  his  Richmond  here, 
And  on  great  Caesar's  fun'ral  pile 

Shall  fall  the  Roman  tear. 
The  jealous  Moor  shall  send  above 

Sweet  Desdemona's  soul, 
And  Pauline  prove  that  woman's  love 

Outweighs  the  power  of  gold. 

Bright  tears  of  joy  shall  dim  the  eye 

For  Darling  Jessie  Brown, 
Who  hears,  while  others  'round  her  die, 

The  welcome  slogan's  sound. 
Here  poor  old  Rip  shall  totter  in 

To  seek  his  little  cot, 
And  find  how,  in  Life's  rush  and  din. 

We  are  so  soon  forgot. 


AN  OPERA  OPENING  H9 

The  earth,  the  sky,  the  boundless  sea, 

And  every  race  and  age, 
Before  these  scenes  shall  gathered  be 

Upon  this  spacious  stage. 
Here  Pleasure  with  her  smiles  shall  bring 

Surcease  from  daily  cares, 
And  dullen  Sorrow's  sharpened  sting, 

And  lift  the  woe  she  bears. 

Little  Miss  Fan  Pugh  leaned  over  the  velvet  uphol 
stered  arm  that  separated  the  box  of  the  Pughs  from  that 
of  the  Phelpses  and  remarked  to  Miss  Madge  Phelps, 
with  what  she  intended  for  an  aristocratic  curl  of  the  lip, 
but  which  resulted  in  producing  an  expression  of  olfac 
tory  offense : 

"I  think  it  a  great  pity  that  nothing  can  be  done  in 
this  city  without  some  of  that  horrid  Lacy's  would-be 
poetry." 

"I  think  so  too,"  replied  Miss  Madge,  in  simpering 
sympathy. 

It  was  always  evident,  when  Miss  Madge  said  any 
thing,  that  she  was  simply  following  the  opinion  of  some 
one  else,  no  matter  how  weak  the  opinion,  or  the  person. 

"It's  awful  rot,"  interjected  the  callow  young  man  who 


150  AN  OPERA  OPENING 

sat  so  close  to  Miss  Madge  that  it  seemed  he  was  afraid 

she  would  get  away. 

The  young  man  was  in  immaculate  evening  dress,  and 
yet  one  felt  in  looking  at  him,  that  there  was  but  little  of 
him  besides  his  collar.  That  was  to  all  appearance  a 
long  linen  cuff,  and  it  seemed  now  and  then  as  if  it  would 
slip  over  his  head. 

These  three  indulged  in  some  other  remarks  of  similar 

character  concerning  the  poem,  which  none  of  them  had 

read,  nor  would  have  appreciated,  if  they  had,  and  they 

were  exceedingly  annoyed,  they  said,  because  such  a 

"  beautiful  program  had  been  spoiled  with  such  trash. 

"Fan  is  so  observing,"  Mrs.  Pugh  whispered  to  Mrs. 
Phelps,  "and  such  a  critic." 

To  which  Mrs.  Phelps  responded,  that  Madge  was  too, 
thus  betraying  the  source  from  whence  Miss  Madge  had 
derived  her  striking  originality. 

The  stage  bell  tinkled,  and  the  curtain  rose  upon  the 
opera,  Wagner's  "Lohengrin"  presented  by  an  excellent 
traveling  troupe. 

Those  of  the  audience  who  appreciated  the  opera  en 
joyed  it  in  the  quiet  way  that  such  people  usually  dp, 
while  those  who  were  really  bored  but  who  were  of  the 


AN  OPERA  OPENING  151 

class  that  attend  operas  because  it  is  fashionable,  were  the 
most  demonstrative  in  their  applause,  and  thus  the  boxes 
on  the  left  gave  ample  evidence  of  the  witlessness  of  their 
contents. 

Mrs.  Pugh  had  much  to  say  of  the  "robustness"  of 
Wagnerian  music,  and  used  other  terms  concerning  the 
opera  that  she  had  memorized  for  the  occasion,  and  Mrs. 
Phelps  "thought  so  too." 

The  opera  and  the  opening  were  over,  and  the  people, 
as  they  slowly  emerged  from  the  theatre,  seemed  to  be 
anxious  to  crowd  close  to  each  other — for  a  greeting 
word;  to  let  each  other  know  they  had  been  there;  to 
indulge  that  indescribable  desire  for  close  proximity 
among  people  at  their  best  in  dress  and  feelings;  human 
gregariousness;  to  get  a  breath  of  fresh  air;  to  get 
homeward  again. 

The  noises  of  the  cab-drivers  and  their  cabs  was  greater 
than  at  the  coming.  The  streets  in  the  immediate  vicinity 
of  the  opera  house  were  suddenly  filled  from  the  out 
pour,  like  the  amusement  quarter  of  a  great  metropolis 
at  such  an  hour. 

The  cabs  and  hacks  rattled  away,  suggesting  risks  that 
many  on  foot  would  be  run  down  by  the  Comanches  of 


152  AN  OPERA  OPENING 

the  city,  the  drivers;  the  street  cars  that  had  blocked  as 
near  to  the  entrances  as  the  lines  ran,  waiting  to  catch 
the  crowd,  buzzed  off  in  their  different  directions,  like 
great  lightening  bugs,  leaving  £s  their  distance  increased, 
a  sound  like  the  mournful  hum  of  the  big  old  Southern 
spinning  wheel;  the  lights  in  the  theatre  went  out;  dark 
and  quiet  fell  upon  the  scene  that  a  few  moments  before 
had  been  one  of  light  and  life. 

Nearly  all  the  people  who  had  attended  the  opera 
were  at  home  within  the  hour;  but  a  few  young  men,  still 
in  evening  dress,  had  assembled  at  Kingsbury's  to  talk 
over  the  event  of  the  night;  to  criticise  or  commend  the 
performance,  to  gossip  about  who  were  there;  to  drink 
intoxicants  and  smoke  cigars;  to  soothe  the  suppressed 
excitement  of  it  all. 

Major  Stamina  and  Jack  Lacy  desiring  a  cigar  and  a 
little  quiet  talk  together,  had  just  arrived  at  the  vestibule 
of  the  main  entrance  to  the  saloon  and  had  let  down  their 
streaming  umbrellas.  Stamina  was  inside,  and  Lacy  was 
crossing  the  threshold  just  as  Charlie  Polk,  the  callow 
young  man  who  had  escorted  Miss  Madge  Phelps,  was 
remarking,  with  intended  innuendo,  as  if  in  reply  to  some 
thing  that  had  been  said  immediately  before: 


AN  OPERA  OPENING  153 

"Yes,  they  seern  to  be  much  in  love;  one  kind  of  love; 
but  Lacy  is  no  spring  chicken." 

At  that  instant  the  distance  between  Polk  and  Lacy, 
which  was  about  twelve  feet,  was  covered  by  a  bound, 
and  before  one  blow  of  Lacy's  clinched  hand  the  tall  and 
callow  young  man  fell  sprawling,  bleeding,  stunned;  h's 
slandering  tongue  silent,  until  he  should  be  resuscitated. 

Lacy,  with  the  look  of  the  angered  tiger  that  was  his 
when  thus  aroused,  stood  glaring  at  the  others,  and 
Major  Stamina  exclaimed: 

"Bully  for  you,  Jack!  That  will  do  for  him!  Le's  go 
in  and  smoke ;  you  have  licked  your  home-made  dude." 

And  they  went  in  and  smoked. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

A  Freeze-Out. 

I'd  been  undone 

By  reptiles  that,  like  other  cowards,  dare 
Smite  but  the  helpless;  and  the  vision  taught 

A  lesson — that  perchance  is  old — to  me: 
Build  all  you  may,  'twill  crumble  into  dust, 

But  love  and  thought  and  song  will  ever  be, 
Though  temples  fall  and  riches  come  to  naught. 

— Renaissance- 

Cole,  the  business  manager  of  the  "Times,"  knew  his 
business  in  the  sense  that  he  lost  no  opportunity  of  turn 
ing  everything  that  would  yield  revenue  into  his  own 
pocket.  He  saw  to  it  that  "they  came  his  way,"  when 
ever  he  had  a  chance  to  guide  "things"  in  that  direction. 
And  in  his  present  position  he  had. 

An  insinuating  manner  combined  with  a  certain 
amount  of  what  may  be  called  unctuousness,  for  want 
of  a  better  term,  predominated  largely  in  Cole's  make 
up.  He  was  crafty,  possessed  of  a  fox-like  cunning 
and  an  apparent  sincerity  on  the  surface,  which  would 

(154) 


A  FREEZE-OUT  155 

lead  those  brought  into  contact  with  him  for  the  first 
time,  to  set  him  down  as  a  "hustler,"  a  man  who  would 
"get  there"  in  spite  of  all  difficulties;  qualities  that  were 
considered  virtues  in  the  flush  days  of  St.  Movadu. 

Originally  Cole  had  been  a  printer;  then  a  farmer;  he 
had  dabbled  in  politics  in  Missouri  and  secured  a  post- 
office  as  a  result.  He  had  been  a  miner,  and  then  a  patent 
medicine  vender,  and  had  bought  and  sold  real  estate  in 
several  railroad  towns  ci  the  middle  west. 

In  each  of  his  varied  occupations,  however,  he  had  al 
ways  overreached  himself  and  shaken  the  confidence  of 
his  erstwhile  friends. 

But  his  confidence  in  himself  was  of  the  supernal  kind. 
It  never  wavered,  for  while  it  might  suffer,  temporarily, 
it  still  knew  how  to  be  strong.  It  was  Cole's  stock-in- 
trade,  and  he  used  it  for  all  it  was  worth.  He  had  struck 
a  rich  pasture  and  he  knew  it,  and  he  resolved  to  crop  the 
sweet  herbage  on  every  side.  His  manner  became  more 
unctuous  than  ever  before,  and  his  thin  lips  took  on  a 
more  sanctimonious  smile  than  was  their  wont,  while  his 
sharp,  beady  eyes  noted  every  condition  in  the  rising 
town,  and  each  was  turned  to  his  advantage. 

He  affected  many  virtues;  he  attended  the  most  fash- 


156  A  FREEZE-OUT 

ionable  church  of  the  town;  he  drank  little  in  public, 
but  would  sometimes  consent  to  take  a  drink  only  in  the 
most  exclusive  saloon  in  the  town,  but  even  this  was  done 
in  a  deprecating  sort  of  way,  intended  to  lead  the  stranger 
into  the  belief  that  here  was  a  model  man,  as  men  go, 
who  simply,  as  an  act  of  good  fellowship,  would  for  a 
moment  lay  aside  his  temperance  convictions,  and  talk 
of  the  future  of  St.  Movadu  over  a  social  glass  with  the 
capitalist  or  the  stranger  who  visited  the  town,  either 
from  curiosity  or  with  an  eye  to  investments. 

So  the  world  went  well  with  Cole.  His  position  on  the 
"Times"  gave  him  an  opportunity  to  gain  the  confidence 
of  the  business  men;  his  apparent  piety  gave  him  a  standing 
with  the  church  element  of  the  young  city;  his  affability 
in  the  saloon  when  he  entered  it  caused  him  to  be  solid, 
or  not  a  bad  fellow,  after  all,  but  perhaps  a  little  straight- 
laced  for  such  a  hustling,  bustling  town  as  was  St.  Mo 
vadu,  where  everything  was  "rim  wide  open."  And  so  for 
a  time  Cole's  star  was  in  the  ascendant,  and  he  gathered 
about  him  lots  and  lands,  which  he  never  attempted  to 
improve,  but  held  for  speculation. 

As  his  worldly  prospects  brightened  and  his  wealth  in 
creased,  Cole's  humility  took  on  an  even  deeper  shade. 


A  FREEZE-OUT  157 

It  was  more  flexible;  he  unlimbered  himself.  He  was  the 
same  Uriah  Keep,  to  be  sure,  but  he  began  to  stretch  out. 
Feeling  himself  somewhat  secure,  he  longed  for  more 
power,  and  a  broader  field  in  which  to  browse.  The  suc 
culent  grasses  of  St.  Movadu  were  now  grown  to  him  a 
necessity. 

Cole,  who  had  come  to  St.  Movadu  with  Van  Waters, 
therefore  began  to  lay  his  own  plans.  They  were  entirely 
in  keeping  with  the  man.  Van  Waters,  it  was,  who  had 
first  given  him  the  chance  to  lift  himself  from  poverty  to 
plenty.  With  his  usual  forgetfulness  of  self  when  others 
were  concerned,  Van  Waters  had  pushed  Cole  to  the 
front.  And  Cole  was  determined  to  stay  there,  so,  with 
all  the  craftiness  of  his  nature  he  sought  to  build  himself 
up  by  the  sacrifice  of  everybody  and  everything  that  lay 
between  himself  and  the  control  of  the  "Times." 

At  the  first  his  protestations  of  friendship  for  Van 
Waters  were  innumerable.  In  the  streets  and  at  the 
club,  he  heralded  his  praises,  but  now  that  the  horizon  of 
his  hopes  had  become  enlarged,  flushed  with  the  con 
scious  pride  of  a  parvenu  whose  newly  found  wealth  had 
given  him  an  importance  in  his  own  eyes,  at  least,  Cole 
thought  that  the  honor  and  credit  and  glory  were  being 


158  A  FREEZE-OUT 

bestowed  upon  the  wrong  man.  He  therefore  began  to 
extol  himself;  he  blew  his  own  horn  lustily,  yet  with  a 
certain  degree  of  caution.  He  did  not  want  the  windy 
blasts  to  disturb  too  much  those  who  Cole  well  knew  ap 
preciated  him  at  his  true  merit,  and  there  were  many  that 
did. 

On  the  outside,  Cole  never  used  profane  language;  if 
he  swore  at  all  it  was  confined  to  the  business  office  of  the 
"Times,"  and  the  nearest  he  ever  approached  to  anything 
like  a  profane  expression  was  "gosh  durn  it"  or  "dog 
gone  it,  anyhow." 

But  now  even  these  careless  expressions  were  care 
fully  eliminated  from  his  vocabulary  of  expletives.  He 
began  to  pay  marked  attention  to  Grayhunt,  a  man  of 
negative  virtues  himself,  whom  the  assumption  of  piety  by 
the  business  manager  of  the  "Times"  impressed  pro 
foundly.  Mr.  Grayhunt  was  one  of  the  stepping-stones 
Cole  intended  to  use  in  his  march  to  still  further  great 
ness. 

"There  are  'scads'  of  money  to  be  made  yet  in  St. 
Movadu,"  he  said  confidentially  to  a  business  acquaint 
ance,  "and  I'm  going  to  get  my  share.  I  might  as  well 


A  FREEZE-OUT  159 

have  some  of  old  Grayhunt's  wealth  while  it  is  being  dis 
tributed,  and  I'm  after  it." 

He  was  indeed.  His  conferences  with  that  gentleman 
grew  more  numerous.  Cole's  unctuousness  increased 
day  by  day,  observed  by  all  who  met  him,  and  even 
marked  by  Van  Waters,  who  was  not  fashioned  in  a 
mould  to  think  evil  of  others. 

The  patches  and  pusillanimity  of  Cole's  character  were 
known  to  the  live  citizens  of  St.  Movadu.  But  to  Gray- 
hunt  alone  he  was  the  painstaking,  conscientious  model 
business  man,  whose  habits  were  as  methodical  as  those 
of  Grayhunt  himself.  And  Grayhunt  was  a  model  citizen, 
a  lay  figure,  conspicuous  for  several  small  virtues. 

The  business  management  of  the  "Times,"  to  Cole  was 
a  sinecure,  in  fact,  though  to  all  appearances  he  was  de 
voted  to  his  duties. 

His  plans  were  now  about  completed.  He  had  wormed 
himself  into  the  confidence  of  Grayhunt;  he  had,  he  be 
lieved,  established  his  reputation  firmly,  and  there  only 
remained  the  coup  d'etat,  which  was  to  send  his  success 
as  high  as  possible  for  it  to  go  in  St.  Movadu. 

One  more  strike  and  Cole  would  be  in  a  position  to 


160  A  FREEZE-OUT 

laugh  at  all  his  enemies,  and  he  was  not  so  devoid  of 

common  sense  that  he  did  not  know  he  had  many. 

With  the  "Times"  in  his  sole  control,  he  would  be  en 
abled  to  lay  aside  a  part  of  the  unctuous  mien  he  carried 
about  with  him  daily;  for  it  began ^o  be  a  burden  even 
to  Cole.  It  had  long  been  painful  to  the  citizens  of  St. 
Movadu. 

While  Cole  was  thus  working  to  the  front,  living  in 
rooms  that  belonged  to  the  "Times"  free  of  rent,  using  the 
fuel,  water  and  lights  of  the  "Times"  establishment  without 
expense  to  himself,  surreptitiously  accumulating  property 
and  paying  other  of  his  necessary  bills  by  the  use  of  the 
"Times'"  advertising  columns;  having  exclusive  control  of 
the  books  of  the  establishment,  he  managed  to  bring  this 
wonderfully  money-making  newspaper  enterprise  out  in 
debt  to  himself  about  the  time  that  St.  Movadu  took  its 
first  downward  start. 

Van  Waters,  on  the  contrary,  who  had  paid  no  at 
tention  to  the  books  of  the  concern — in  fact  was  incapable 
of  business  details — had  implicitly  trusted  Cole,  and  in~ 
stead  of  securing  property  advantages  from  the  "Times," 
had  gone  on  trying  to  make  it  the  successful  newspaper 
that  it  really  had  been,  He  bought  and  paid  for  out  of  his 


A  FREEZE-OUT  161 

limited  means  and  by  his  salary  saving  the  home  that  he 
built,  but  even  that  was  heavily  mortgaged. 

This  was  the  situation  when,  through  the  manipula 
tions  of  Cole,  backed  by  Grayhunt,  Phelps  and  the  en 
tire  outfit,  Van  Waters  found,  one  day  in  the  summer  of 
St.  Movadu's  second  year,  that  they  had,  together,  worked 
ascheme  to  "freeze  him  out"  of  his  interest  in  the  "Times," 
and  even  his  salary  as  its  editor.  So,  'twas  with  a  heavy 
heart,  he  started  for  his  home  on  the  hillside  in  the  early 
dawn  of  the  next  morning  after  his  last  night's  work  as 
editor  of  the  "Times,"  the  greatest  factor,  next  to  Newton 
Morse's  money,  in  the  up-building  of  the  remarkable  city 
of  St.  Movadu." 

"Ship  Ahoy-oy-oy!!!" 

That  is  what  chanticleer  seemed  to  say  to  the  wearied 
and  worried  journalist  and  Bohemian,  who  had  worked 
for  months  with  brain  and  nerve,  with  a  yearning  desire 
to  help  in  the  building  of  a  great  city  and  a  great  news 
paper.  He  had  almost  succeeded  and  had  done  much 
more  than  his  share. 

It  was  nearly  daylight  when  he  reached  the  eminence 
upon  which  his  cottage  stood,  and  which  toward  the  latter 
part  of  the  trudge  was  approached  by  tortuous  windings  of 


162  A  FREEZE-OUT 

plank  walk  across  some  small  gulches  and  along  the  hillside. 

Almost  breathless  and  beaten;  every  nerve  trembling 
in  its  taut  tension  as  if  they  were  the  vibrations  of  violin 
strings,  he  had  thrown  himself  upon  his  bed,  alone  in  his 
chamber,  and  it  was  late  summer  time. 

A  window  at  his  pillow  was  open  and  the  breezes  came 
in  softly,  rustling  the  light  curtains  and  even  playing 
among  his  long  locks  of  dark  hair. 

With  that  sound  which  seemed  a  sea  shout  of  "Ship 
Ahoy,"  he  was  half  aroused  from  what  would  have  been 
a  gentle  sleep.  He  had  read  in  stories  of  the  cheery  cry 
"Ship  Ahoy!"  and  though  he  had  often  been  to  sea  had 
never  heard  it  before. 

With  this  awakening  he  listlessly  turned  his  eyes  to 
ward  the  glorious  bay  lit  by  the  stars,  and  over  the  city  in 
the  foreground  below,  lit  by  the  electric  lamps  that  he 
with  his  pen  had  helped  to  light. 

A  great  steamer  came  ploughing  over  the  placid  har 
bor.  Gracefully  careering  it  turned  with  the  majestic 
sweep  of  a  wide  semi-circle  toward  the  largest  dock. 

With  jingling  of  bells  and  eccentric  puffs ;  backing  and 
filling,  and  with  the  cluttering  and  dabbling  of  paddle- 
wheels,  it  was  made  fast  at  last,  and  then  pigmy-looking 


A  FREEZE-OUT  165 

deck-hands  ran  out  a  gang-plank  to  the  top  of  the  wharf 
and  pigmy-looking  passengers,  gripsack,  package  and 
umbrella-laden,  went  single  file  ashore,  and  pigmy-look 
ing  stevedores  and  longshoremen  rolled  little  boxes  and 
barrels  of  freight  over  another  gang-plank,  below,  to  the 
slips  and  up  to  the  main  floor  of  the  wharf. '  Then  the 
great  steamer  with  more  of  the  jingling  of  bells  and  the 
dabbling  of  paddles  backed  out  from  the  dock  and  sailed 
gracefully  from  the  harbor. 

Wearily  and  yet  with  an  interest,  Van  Waters,  who  had 
toiled  for  the  city's  good,  amid  the  trickery  and  treachery 
about  him,  unknowing  of  it  all,  had  watched  the 
movements  of  the  steamer  and  its  people,  wondering  no 
more,  why  that  startling  cry  of  "Ship  Ahoy!" 

He  turned  upon  his  pillow  and  saw,  as  in  a  dream,  a 
mighty  city  growing  that  he  had  wrought  to  start. 

But  in  it  all  he  had  unselfishly  overdone  himself. 

A  grand  buf  sombre  angel  came  and  with  gentle  finger 
touched  his  heart;  it  ceased  to  beat,  and  his  work,  yet 
unfinished  was  done. 

Chanticleer  rose  tip-toe  again,  clapped  his  wings  and 
cheerily  screamed  to  the  morning, 

"Ship  Ahoy-oy-oy!!" 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

A  Setting  Sun. 

I  gazed,  enraptured,  on  the  scene — 

Below  the  vale;  beyond  the  town 
Just  peeping  through  its  leafy  screen — 

And  stood  there  till  the  sun  went  down, 
And  darkness  gathered  all  around. 

— My  Village  Home. 

% 

Tom  Fuller  was  a  Chicago  newspaper  friend  of  Van 
Waters  who  had  been  visiting  him  for  a  few  weeks  and 
was  his  guest.  He  was  some  sort  of  distant  relative  of 
Mrs.  Van  Waters  and  she  and  Grace  were  exceedingly 
fond  of  him,  as  he  was  of  them. 

Van  Waters  had  given  standing  instructions  in  his 
house  that  he  was  not  to  be  disturbed  in  his  daytime 
sleeps.  His  calling  had  made  him  a  "night  hawk,"  and 
for  years,  having  retired  generally  about  the  time  day 
workers  were  thinking  of  getting  up,  he  usually  slept 
until  noon.  Tom  Fuller,  Mrs.  Van  Waters  and  Grace,  on 
the  morning  Van  Waters  died,  went  out  on  a  sailing 
excursion  with  some  friends  on  the  bay,  not  knowing 

(1*4) 


A  SETTING  SUN  165 

that  they  had  left  the  lifeless  body  of  Van  Waters  in  the 
closed  apartment  above  stairs. 

They  did  not  return  until  toward  the  middle  of  the 
afternoon,  and  when  Lottie,  the  maid  of  all  work,  in 
formed  Mrs.  Van  Waters  that  the  master  of  the  house 
had  not  arisen  at  his  usual  time,  the  three,  Tom,  Nan  and 
Grace,  gave  each  other  a  startled  look,  and  led  by  Tom 
hastily  ran  upstairs.  Tom  knocked  vigorously  at  the 
door,  crying,  "Get  out,  old  man,  or  you  will  lose 
your  breakfast,  about  dinner  time."  Of  course  there  was 
no  reply,  and  the  three  faces  blanched.  Fuller  took  a 
stepladder  that  stood  in  the  attic  and  climbed  over  the 
transom,  saying,  "He  must  be  very  ill;  perhaps  it  is  a 
swoon." 

Lightly  swinging  himself  from  the  transom  to  the 
floor  inside,  he  was  quickly  at  the  bedside  of  the  dead 
man,  and  instantly  became  aware  of  the  truth. 

Fuller  and  Van  Waters  had  loved  each  other,  even 
more  than  brothers  ordinarily  do,  from  their  childhood, 
and  the  appalling  truth  that  he  had  discovered  smote  him 
a  terrible  blow.  He  turned  to  the  door,  unlocked  it,  and 
Nan  and  Grace  rushed  quickly  into  the  room,  Tom's 
blanched  face  bringing  from  both  exclamations  of  pain. 


166  A  SETTING  SUN 

Tne  awful  truth  dawned  upon  the  two  women,  and  the 

three  fell  sobbing  upon  the  dead  man's  couch. 

Fuller  was  first  to  comprehend  that  something  else 
must  be  done,  and  calling  Lottie,  he  directed  her  to  ring 
for  a  messenger,  while  he  proceeded  to  the  telephone  and 
informed  Major  Stamina  of  the  situation.  In  a  few  min 
utes  later  the  major  and  Jack  Lacy  arrived  in  a 

• 

carriage,  and  shortly  after  Ada  Benson  and  Mrs.  Dawson 
came  also. 

Pending  the  final  arrangements  for  the  funeral,  hun 
dreds  of  sympathizing  friends,  as  well  as  many  others  im 
pelled  by  curiosity,  visited  the  Van  Waters  home. 

Possibly  for  some  fancied  fashionable  reason  of  their 
own,  among  the  visitors  were  Mrs.  Phelps  and  Mrs. 
Pugh,  with  the  latter's  simpering  and  affected  daughters. 

This  party,  after  taking  a  look  at  the  dead  man, 
were  seated  a  few  moments  in  the  hall,  and  as  if  for  the 
ear  of  Jack  Lacy,  as  he  passed,  Mrs.  Pugh,  with  affected 
pathos,  remarked  to  Mrs.  Phelps:  "He  was  really  quite 
a  good  man,  and  I  have  often  thought  what  a  pity  it  was 
that  he  did  not  belong  to  the  Episcopal  church." 

Lacy,  knowing  that  Van  Waters  and  his  people  for 
generations  past  had  been  Episcopalians;  that  his  friend 


A  SETTING  SUN  167 

had  been  the  chief  factor  in  the  inauguration  and  estab 
lishment  there  of  St.  Paul's  parish,  and  that  he  and  his 
family  had  lately  been  driven  from  attendance  at  the  ser 
vices  of  that  church  by  the  snobbish  and  parvenu  con 
ventionalities  that  had  grown  into  the  congregation,  at 
the  hands  of  these  people,  and  their  followers,  very  few 
of  whom,  especially  these,  had  ever  been  inside  of  an 
Episcopal  church,  until  that  which  had  been  erected  into 
the  temple  of  the  pitiful  "400"  to  St.  Movadu,  was  so  in 
dignant  when  he  heard  the  remark  that  it  seemed  im 
possible  for  him  to  hinder  his  lips  and  tongue  from  say 
ing  to  Mrs.  Pugh:  "Did  you  join  the  Episcopal  church 
at  Monterey?" 

Without  waiting  for  a  reply,  Lacy,  knowing  that  his 
shot  had  hit  the  mark,  hurried  on,  and  the  Phelps  and 
Pugh  party  shortly  afterward  drove  away  in  their  car 
riages. 

The  funeral  of  Van  Waters  brought  out  one  of  the  rul 
ing  passions  of  a  great  many  men — Van  Waters  was  a 
member  of  several  secret  societies,  Masons,  Elks,  Knights 
of  Pythias,  etc.,  and  these  organizations  turned  out  in 
large  numbers.  He  was  universally  liked  among  the 
people  of  St.  Movadu  and  the  cortege  that  followed  his 


168  A  SETTING  SUN 

remains  to  the  cemetery  was  by  far  the  largest  and  most 
imposing  that  the  new  city  had  ever  seen.  Indeed  there 
had  not  been  more  than  ten  burials  in  their  "City  of  the 
Dead,"  and  the  opportunity  for  parade  was  taken  advan 
tage  of — almost  gladly.  And  yet  the  sincere  mourners 
were  unusually  numerous. 

A  few  days  after  the  funeral,  Arthur  Campbell,  a  young 
lawyer  whom  Van  Waters  had  always  consulted  in  the 
few  legal  affairs  necessarily  coming  in  his  business,  ac 
companied  by  Major  Stamina,  and  one  or  two  other  of 
Van  Water's  intimates,  met  for  the  purpose  of  looking 
into  and  straightening  out  the  dead  man's  estate.  They 
found  a  very  brief  will,  in  which  Van  Waters  had  made 
Major  Stamina  his  executor.  The  will  simply  gave  to 
Nan,  his  wife,  whatever  of  property,  personal  and  real,  he 
might  die  possessed,  and  to  Grace,  his  daughter,  a  life 
insurance  of  $10,000. 

It  was  further  discovered  that  every  piece  of  real  es 
tate  Van  Waters  had  owned  was  heavily  mortgaged,  and 
that  Cole,  Grayhunt,  Phelps  and  Company,  had  become 
possessed  of  the  "Times"  newspaper  and  printing  estab 
lishment,  leaving  Van  Waters'  estate  absolutely  bereft  of 
any  interest  in  that.  The  home  was  so  heavily  mortgaged 


A  SETTING  SUN  169 

that  it  was  utterly  out  of  the  question  to  think  of  retain 
ing  possession  of  that;  and  Grace  being  under  age  the 
fund  left  her  through  the  life  insurance  policy  could  not 
be  used  in  its  defense.  Besides,  the  stricken  wife  was 
anxious  to  go  back  with  her  daughter  to  the  old  home  in 
New  York  state,  where  she  could  be  among  her  relatives 
and  those  of  the  husband  she  mourned,  and  Tom  Fuller 
took  them  away. 

Cole,  now  entirely  in  charge  of  the  "Times,"  patroniz 
ingly  offered  the  editorship  of  the  paper  to  Jack  Lacy, 
who  quietly  and  firmly  refused  the  distinguished  honor, 
saying,  perhaps  unnecessarily,  but  in  his  candid  way,  that 
the  "Times"  would  never  be  edited  again. 

Cole  had  never  liked  Jack  Lacy,  but  he  was  acute 
enough  in  business  to  know  that  Lacy  was  the  best 
man  he  could  obtain  then,  in  St.  Movadu,  and  it  was  his 
intention  to  place  Lacy  in  the  editorship,  but  only  until 
he  could  bring  a  man  of  his  own  kind  from  somewhere 
else,  when  he  would  unblushingly  discharge  Mr.  Lacy. 

Jack  not  only  believed  that  this  was  the  plan  of 
Cole,  but  he  had  a  disinclination  to  take  the  position 
vacated  by  the  death  of  his  friend,  and  he  had  also  other 
matters  of  importance,  to  himself,  that  woiiJd  distract  his 


170  A  SETTING  SUN 

attention  to  such  an  extent  that  he  would  be  unable  to 
do  himself  justice  in  that  work. 

Some  weeks  after  the  incidents  just  related  a  queer 
affair  occurred. 

For  years  Lacy  had  carried  in  his  purse  a  curious 
button,  exquisitely  wrought  by  some  East  Indian  artist. 
He  was  desirous  of  presenting  this  to  Ada  Benson  on  the 
recurrence  of  her  birthday,  which  was  then  a  few  weeks 
away;  but  it  was  necessary  that  for  the  purpose  of  a 
brooch,  into  which  shape  he  proposed  to  have  it  altered 
for  his  sweetheart,  a  pin  and  bar  be  placed  upon  it,  with 
some  tender  words  engraved  thereon  suited  to  his  fancy. 

To  DeWolf,  the  leading  jeweler  of  the  city,  he  took  the 
button.  The  jeweler,  who  was  well  informed  in  his  art, 
and  who  was  also  a  scoundrel,  a  fact  known  to  but  few 
people,  comparatively,  at  once  saw  that  the  trinket  was 
of  great  value,  indeed  far  more  valuable  than  Lacy  had 
ever  thought,  for  he  had  treasured  it  more  for  its  beauty 
than  its  intrinsic  value. 

DeWolf  was  much  infatuated  with  a  gypsy-like  and 
fascinating  courtesan,  whom  he  was  solicitous  should 
wear  the  jewel.  Deftly  he  sounded  Mr.  Lacy  and 
offered  to  purchase  it  of  him,  at  a  most  astonishing  price, 


A  SETTING  SUN  171 

Lacy,  however,  refused  the  jeweler's  importunities,  and 
finally  told  DeWolf  that  the  button  was  not  for  sale  at 
any  price  and  that  he  couldn't  raise  money  enough  to  buy 
it.  So  the  exquisite  thing  was  left  in  the  hands  of  the 
jeweler  with  instructions  how  to  mount  and  engrave  it. 

So  determined  was  DeWolf  to  possess  the  jewel  that 
he  deliberately  set  at  work  and  produced  a  counterfeit  of 
ft,  mounted  as  directed,  and  when  Lacy  came  for  it, 
delivered  to  him  the  counterfeit  and  retained  the  original. 
It  was  early  in  the  evening  when  Jack  received  the  little 
case  containing  the  brooch,  and  being  somewhat  hurried, 
without  examining  tne  contents  of  the  box,  he  placed  it 
in  his'pocket,  paid  the  jeweler's  bill  and  hastened  away. 

The  business  that  called  him  was  with  Major  Stamina, 
and  having  reached  that  gentleman's  office,  the  gift  for  his 
sweetheart  being  uppermost  in  his  mind,  he  immediately 
produced  it,  for-  the  purpose  of  exhibiting  it  to  the  en 
thusiastic  major,  who  declared  it  to  be  the  most  beautiful 
thing  he  had  ever  seen. 

By  the  absence  of  some  little  mark  that  Lacy  had 
frequently  observed  upon  the  original  button  he  discov 
ered  the  counterfeit,  and  disclosed  that  fact  to  Major 
Stamina,  who  had  often  seen  the  button  before  in  Lacy's 


172  A  SETTING  SUN 

hands,  and  quickly  the  two  repaired  to  DeWolf's  estab 
lishment,  but  to  find  that  the  wily  jeweler  had  closed  his 
establishment  for  the  night. 

A  warrant  was  at  once  secured  for  DeWolf's  arrest,  and 
accompanied  by  a  policeman,  Lacy  and  Major  Stamina 
repaired  to  the  house  of  the  fascinating  courtesan,  where 
they  found  the  culprit  and  he  was  placed  under  arrest. 
He  offered  to  return  the  original  jewel  in  consideration 
of  his  release;  but  Lacy,  wildly  indignant  over  the  fraud 
that  was  about  to  be  perpetrated  against  him,  and  es 
pecially  his  sweetheart,  refused  DeWolf's  overtures,  and 
the  rascally  jeweler  was  placed  in  jail.  A  search  warrant 
was  obtained,  however,  and  DeWolf,  in  jail,  was  informed 
of  this  writ,  and  advised  by  Major  Stamina,  that  rather 
than  have  'his  establishment  ransacked  the  best  thing  he 
could  do  would  be  to  reveal  the  hiding-place  of  the  jewel, 
which  idea  the  jeweller  craftily  saw  would  be  to  his  ad 
vantage,  and  produced  the  button  from  his  purse. 

Lacy  asked  him  if  the  courtesan  had  even  seen  or 
handled  the  button,  and  being  assured  by  DeWolf,  the 
circumstances  corroborating  his  declarations,  that  he  had 
not  had  time  to  exhibit  it  to  his  charmer,  and  that  he  had 
in  fact  intended  to  mount  it  and  present  it  to  her  as  a  sur- 


A  SETTING  SUN  173 

prise,  Mr.  Lacy  felt  much  relieved;  for  had  he  learned 
that  the  jewel  had  ever  been  contaminated  by  the  touch 
of  the  harlot,  he  would  have  been  unable  to  present  it  to 
the  pearl  of  a  woman  whom  he  almost  adored. 

The  button  having  been  thus  secured,  Lacy  left  the 
rascally  jeweler  in  the  hands  of  the  law.  On  the  following 
day  the  fellow  obtained  a  bond  and  was  released  from 
custody.  Having  thus  obtained  temporary  freedom  the 
jeweler  made  great  haste  to  dispose  of  nis  establishment, 
and  left  St.  Movadu,  for  the  time  intervening  between 
that  and  the  day  set  for  his  trial.  That  came  about  a 
•  month  afterwards  and  the  jeweler,  thinking  the  matter 
had  blown  over,  made  his  appearance  in  court  for  trial. 

In  the  meantime,  Lacy  and  Stamina,  having  fully  con 
sidered  the  matter  and  Jack  being  deeply  anxious  lest  in 
the  trial  the  name  of  his  sweetheart  might  be  brought 
into  court,  decided  not  to  appear.  The  district  attorney, 
who  was  Lacy's  intimate  friend,  possibly  appreciating 
Jack's  feeling  in  the  matter,  entered  a  nolle  prose  qui; 
DeWolf  was  released  and  soon  after  left  the  city  for 
good — and  also  for  the  city's  good. 

DeWolf's  rascality  turned  out  to  be  a  most  fortunate 
thing  for  him,  financially,  "after  ail.  At  the  time  of  his 


174  A  SETTING  SUN 

departure  he  was  able  to  dispore  of  his  jewelry  establish 
ment  at  a  very  good  price — a  thing  which  he  could  not 
have  done  three  months  afterwards. 

The  failure  of  the  Baring  Brothers  had  by  this  time 
begun  to  affect  the  financial  world.  Hard  times  began 
to  creep  over  the  country;  some  changes  by  a  great  rail 
road  king,  in  affairs  that  affected  St.  Movadu,  gave  the 
young  city  a  stunning  blow.  People  began  to  close  out 
their  business  and  depart  by  tens,  then  by  hundreds, 
then  by  thousands,  from  the  unfortunate  city. 

The  "Times"  newspaper  became  a  four-page  sheet  in 
stead  of  an  eight-page  publication;  its  columns  were 
filled  largely  with  ready-print  matter;  the  general  print 
ing  business  fell  off  in  an  appalling  way,  and  now,  in 
stead  of  a  staff  of  editors  and  reporters,  several  employees 
of  the  business  office  and  twenty-five  or  thirty  men  and 
boys  in  the  composing  and  press  rooms,  the  entire  force 
dwindled  down  to  five  people,  a  cheap  editor,  an  ama 
teur  reporter,  Cole  in  the  business  office,  and  two  printers 
who  set  the  type  and  then  printed  the  emaciated  issue 
upon  the  press,  thus  doing  double  dutv,  and  even  in  that 
consuming  but  little  of  their  time. 

St.  Movadu  became  a  city  of  shreds  and  patches.    En- 


A  SETTING  SUN  175 

tire  squares  were  vacated,  and  eventually,  for  months, 
and  even  for  years,  the  streets  were  deserted,  and  the 
situation  became  painfully  pathetic. 

The  "Times"  was  at  last  consolidated  with  another  little 
daily  that  had  been  established  in  the  latter  days  of  St. 
Movadu's  prosperity,  and  the  two  were  turned  into 
one  weakly  weekly. 

The  change  had  reduced  Cole  to  poverty,  and  with  a 
few  dollars  in  cash  that  he  had  kept  hidden  somewhere, 
he  left  on  a  steamer  one  morning,  ostensibly  for  a  visit 
to  a  neighboring  city,  but  the  places  about  St.  Movadu 
that  knew  him  knew  him  no  more  thereafter. 

St.  Movadu's  first  sun  had  set. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

An  Aristocratic  Democrat. 

x 

Now  list  the  music  of  his  shell, 
And  hear  his  raptured  accents  tell 

Of  pure  and  noble  things. 
With  minstrel's  art  and  poet's  heart 
He  fills  the  bowl  that  soothes  the  soul, 

And  plays  upon  its  strings. 

— The  Poet  King-. 

Major  Stamina  and  Arthur  Campbell  sat  upon  the 
marble  steps  of  the  First  National  1  ank  of  St.  Movadu 
on  a  glorious  morning  in  late  autumn  of  the  young  city's 
second  year.  They  saw  Jack  Lacy,  with  Ada  Benson' 
seated  beside  him,  drive  by  in  a  handsome  phaeton  drawn 
by  an  honest-looking  bay  horse. 

•  Both    men   arose,   lifted   their   hats   and   saluted   the 
couple  with  pleasant  words  and  cordial  smiles. 

Of  course  that  was  not  enough  for  Major  Stamina,  for 
with  the  return,  from  the  phaeton,  of  their  salute,  the 
major  yelled  out  in  his  exhuberant  anc1  hearty  way: 

"Now  you  look  something  like,  young  man.  Keep  up 
your  lick!  Go  it  strong!  That's  the  way  to  win!  He's 


AN  ARISTOCRATIC  DEMOCRAT  177 

all  right,  Miss  Ada!  Stick  to  him  and  you'll  be  wearing 
diamonds  all  over  your  bonnet,  first  you  know.  Going 
to  see  the  old  man?  Good  luck!  Give  him  my  regards. 
Good-bye.  See  you  later,"  and  he  sat  down  again  beside 
Lawyer  Campbell,  who  had  already  resumed  his  seat  on 
the  marble,  remarking  as  he  did  so: 

"That  young  fellow  is  coming  out  strong.  I  always 
knew  he  would.  St.  Movadu  seems  to  be  going  to  the 
dickens  just  now,  between  you  and  me,  but  she'll  come 
out  again.  Mark  my  words,  she'll  come  out  all  right, 
star-spangled  and  with  the  scream  of  the  eagle.  Got  to 
do  it.  It's  here.  Everything's  here  to  do  it.  But  there's 
going  to  be  a  squall,  I'm  telling  you;  mighty  bad  squall, 
too.  It's  in  the  air.  This  young  man,  though — this  Jack 
Lacy — he's  right  in  it.  They  tell  me  that  mine  of  his, 
up  in  the  Oro  district,  is  just  simply  a  whizzer.  Besides, 
the  old  man  Duncan  has  been  giving  him  a  lift  to  develop 
her.  The  old  man  warn't  near  as  bad  broke  as  folks 
thought  he  was.  But  he's  mighty  close  to  Jordan's 
stormy  waters — " 

"Have  you  known  Lacy  long?"  Campbell  broke  in. 

One  had  to  break  in  to  get  in  a  word  edgewise  when 
the  major  got  started  on  a  prolific  theme,  and  nearly  all 


178  AN  ARISTOCRATIC  DEMOCRAT 

themes  were  prolific  to  him,  or  at  least  such  as  he  chose 

to  talk  on. 

"Know  him,  I  should  say  I  have  known  him.  I  knew 
him  before  he  was  born — that  is  to  say,  I  knew  his 
father  and  mother  before  they  were  married — used  to  tike 
a  sort  of  a  shine  to  the  old  lady — young  lady  then — long 
before  Tom  Lacy,  Jack's  dad,  ever  thought  of  her, 
and—" 

"What  sort  of  people  were  they?"  Campbell  inter 
jected  again. 

"People?  Finest  on  earth.  Tom  Lacy  came  from  old 
Scotch-English  stock — had  a  De  on  the  name — De 
Laceys,  you  know.  Walter  Scott's  got  something  about 
some  De  Laceys  in  one  of  his  novels,  you  know — same 
stock,  I  reckon;  good  stock,  anyhow,  but  Tom  was  born 
and  raised  in  Virginny;  didn't  like  any  fool'shness,  you 
know,  so  he  just  took  a  corn  knife  or  something  and 
whacked  the  De  right  off,  and  they've  been  going  it 
plain  Lacys  ever  since." 

"Jack  has  much  of  the  courtly  gentleman  about  him, 
but  he  doesn't  look  it,"  said  Campbell.  "He  seems  to  me  a 
strange  mixture  of  aristocrat  and  democrat.  How  do 
you  account  for  that?" 


AN  ARISTOCRATIC  DEMOCRAT  179 

"Easy  as  falling  off  a  log,"  confidently  asserted  the 
major.  "If  ever  a  man's  face  belied  him  it's  that  same 
Jack  Lacy's  face.  His  mother  was  about  the  finest  look 
ing  young  woman  I  ever  saw;  her  hair  and  eyes  as  black 
as  night;  face  like  a  princess,  with  a  nose  on  it  that  had 
a  little  bit  of  a  Roman  hump  to  it,  and  she  was  blooded, 
too,  you  hear  me;  old  French  Huguenot  stock  that  settled 
in  the  Carolineys  and  Virginny.  And  Tom  was  a  mighty 
sight  like  her — handsome  as  a  Messenger  horse;  but  he 
had  red  hair — auburn,  some  call  it,  and  was  built  like  a 
prize  fighter.  Jack  must  have  bred  back,  or  forwards,  or 
something.  He  don't  look  like  what  he  is — them  long, 
white  eyelashes  and  that  sort  of  a  muckle-berry-dun 
head  of  his,  and  that  scattering  moustache — but  did  you 
ever  notice  his  eyes?  Look  into  those  blue  eyes  of  his  if 
you  want  to  see  all  there  is  in  that  man.  Game  as  a 
wildcat;  kind  as  a  woman;  sharper  than  a  steel  trap;  heart 
too  big  to  fit  him;  bright,  smart,  and  still  as  innocent  as 
a  lamb.  Don't  know  a  lick  on  earth  about  conniving.  I 
remember  one  time  out  in  Missoury.  We  both  lived 
in  St.  Joe  eighteen  years  ago.  Jack,  was  only  a  kid  then, 
but  he  was  a  mighty  handy  reporter  on  a  newspaper,  and 
blamed  if  he  wasn't  all  mixed  up  in  the  big  whisky  ring 


180  AN  ARISTOCRATIC  DEMOCRAT 

of  that  time  and  didn't  know  6*f  its  existence  till  they 
had  his  employers  and  about  five  or  six  more  of  the  big 
business  men,  that  he  associated  with  every  day,  in  jail. 
They  had  been  sending  telegrams  by  Jack  and  making 
him  handy,  and  him  as  innocent  as  a  lamb.  They  were 
men  that  stood  so  high  socially,  commerciallv  and  finan 
cially  that  he  never  would  have  suspected  them  of  any 
thing  but  being  straight  as  a  ruler.  And  the  fact  is  some 
of  them  that  were  arrested  were  as  honest  men  as  ever  saw 
the  sun.  Then,  again,  some  of  them  weren't.  But  all  of 
them  seemed  to  think  that  they  had  a  rierht  to  beat  the 
government  out  of  whisky  tax.  They  were  distillers, 
wholesale  dealers  in  the  truck,  and  government  officials 
— inspectors,  gaugers,  warehousemen  and  the  like.  And 
they  just  doted  on  little  Jack." 

"But  if  they  doted  on  him  so,  why  didn't  they  give  him 
a  slice  of  the  big  money  they  were  making?" 

"Well,  tell  you  how  it  was.  Jack  was  talking  to  the 
king  of  the  ring  one  day,  in  Chicago,  years  after  the 
thing  was  over.  This  boss  had  been  a  particular  admirer 
of  little  Jack's  and  Jack  asked  him  the  very  question 
you've  asked  me.  Joking,  rather,  he  said,  'Why  didn't 
you  let  me  in  on  that  scheme?'  The  ex-king,  who  had 


AN  ARISTOCRATIC  DEMOCRAT  181 

served  about  half  his  three  years'  time  and  was  pardoned 
by  President  Hayes,  said,  'Well,  to  tell  you  the  truth, 
Jack,  we  thought  you  were  too  honest  to  trust.'  Just 
think  of  that,  Cam.  Too  honest  to  trust?  Now,  wouldn't 
that  kill  you?  Then  the  king  went  on  to  say,  'Do  you 
remember,  Jack,  the  time  I  asked  you  if  you  wouldn't 
like  to  be  a  government  warehouse-keeper  at  eight  dol 
lars  a  day,  and  you  said,  no,  you  didn't  want  to  be  fool 
ing  around  a  whisky  warehouse?  Well,  my  son,  if  you 
had  taken  the  place  I  was  going  to  give  you,  the  chances 
are  that  you  would  have  been  mixed  up  somewhat  in  the 
ring  and  you  would  have  had  stripes  running  like  a  zebra 
on  you  before  you  got  out  of  it.  But  none  of  us  thought 
then  that  we  were  going  to  get  into  any  trouble.'  It  was 
lucky  for  Jack  that  he  was  too  honest  to  be  trusted, 
wasn't  it?" 

"Well,  rather,"  replied  Mr.  Campbell.  "But  you 
haven't  explained  to  me  how  Lacy  comes  to  be  aristo 
cratic  and  democratic  both." 

"That's  easy.  Ask  me  something  hard,"  returned  the 
major.  "You  see,  Jack's  blooded.  I  told  you  that  before. 
He  came  from  away  up  stock  on  both  sides.  French 
nobility,  British  knighthood,  through  the  old  Virginny 


182  AN  ARISTOCRATIC  DEMOCRAT 

blood  of  the  best  kind,  and  he  just  simply  inherited  aris 
tocracy.  Besides,  he's  as  brave  as  Julius  Caesar  and  as 
gallant  as  Dick  the  Lion-hearted;  but  he's  all  American. 
He's  got  a  sense  of  justice  that  would  have  helped  even 
old  Judge  Marshall,  and  he's  a  believer  in  the  nobility  of 
skilled  labor.  I  have  heard  him  say  when  he  was  a  boy 
and  read  English  history  the  first  time,  there  were  two  of 
the  old-time  kings  that  particularly  struck  his  fancy. 
One  of  them  was  Alfred,  who  could  shoe  his  own  horse, 
and  often  did  it,  and  the  other  was  Edward  III.,  who, 
when  he  picked  up  a  woman's  garter  at  a  court  ball  and 
a  courtier  sneered,  turned  to  him  with  some  sort  of  a 
parley  voo  talk,  that  I  don't  remember — and  wouldn't  if 
I  could — but  which  meant,  'That  woman's  under  my 
protection  and  I'll  see  you  later.  I'm  king!'  Jack  can 
go  into  a  blacksmith  shop  and  make  as  good  a  horse 
shoe  as  Jim  Purvis  can,  to  save  him,  and  did  you  ever 
see  him  hit  the  'pianner  forty'  and  the  banjo?  Look  at 
his  poetry,  and  look  how  he  loves  that  girl  of  his'n.  And 
don't  you  remember,  the  other  day,  when  he  wanted  to 
find  out  if  that  woman  of  DeWolf's  had  ever  had  her 
hands  on  that  button  for  the  brooch.  If  she  had,  Jack 
would  have  ground  that  costly  thing  under  his  heel  before 


AN  ARISTOCRATIC  DEMOCRAT  183 

he  would  have  given  it  to  Ada  Benson,  but  he  would  have 
bought  her  something  twice  as  expensive  to  make  up  for 
it.  That's  just  a  little  pointer  on  Tack  Lacy's  gallantry. 
He's  all  silk,  my  son,  and  as  wide  as  the  earth." 

"Well,  I'm  glad  to  hear  all  this  about  Lacy.  I  al 
ways  liked  him,  and  I  think  I  like  him  more  than  ever 
now." 

"You  can't  like  him  too  much,  I'll  tell  you  that,  old 
man,  for  he's  as  good  to  tie  to  as  the  Goddess  of  Liberty, 
or  the  north  star,  and  I'm  mighty  glad  that  he  has 
struck  it  rich,  especially  when  all  tne  balance  of  us  here 
are  going)  temporarily — mind,  I  say  temporarily — to  the 
bow-wows.  By  the  way,  Cam,  come  walk  up  home  with 
me,  I  want  to  show  you  some  roses.  You  never  saw  any 
roses.  Hush,  now  don't  try  to  say  anything.  I  tell  you 
you  never  saw  any  roses — " 

"But,  I—" 

"Yes,  I  know  you  think  you  have,  but  come  right 
along  with  me,  I  want  to  prove  to  you  that  you  never  did 
know  any  more  about  roses  than  a  cat  does  about  San 
scrit.  And —  The  major  brought  that  "and"  out  with 
a  rising  inflection  and  a  long  stretch  of  it  for  emphasis, 
"A-n-d  maybe  I'll  show  you  some  other  things." 


184  AN  ARISTOCRATIC  DEMOCRAT 

Campbell  was  glad.to  go.  St.  Movadu  was  moribund. 
Litigation  had  almost  ceased,  as  had  all  other  kinds  of 
business.  He  had  more  leisure  than  anything  else,  ex 
cept  almost  worthless  town  lots,  for  he  too  had  been 
caught  in  the  downfall  of  the  city,  so  ne  arose,  assisted 
in  a  playful  way  by  a  pull  from  the  major's  strong  hand, 
and  as  they  stood  upon  the  steps  both  looked  up  and 
down  the  almost  deserted  streets  and  heaved  big  sighs 
in  concert. 

Indeed  the  scene  was  pathetic. 

There  were  whole  squares  in  the  business  part  of  the 
city,  that  a  few  months  before  was  instinct  with  com 
mercial  and  social  life,  now  almost  entirely  deserted. 
Hundreds  of  handsome  homes  along  the  hillsides  were 
tenantless,  and  there  was  an  air  of  desertion  and  loneli 
ness  that  one  sometimes  observes  about  a  crossroad 
hamlet  on  a  holiday,  when  all  the  people  of  the  place  have 
gone,  early,  to  a  neighboring  town  to  celebrate.  But 
the  mercurial  Major  Stamina,  always  as  full  of  hope  as 
the  firmament  is  of  stars  on  a  clear  night,  came  out 
strong  with  the  remark: 

"You  could  shoot  a  Catling  gun  down  that  street  and 
never  hit  anything  but  a  dog,  unless  it's  Phelps — still  I 


AN  ARISTOCRATIC  DEMOCRAT  185 

don't  take  back  the  dog.  But  it  will  be  all  right  after 
awhile,  Cam.  This  thing  ain't  a  going  to  last.  The  re 
sources  are  too  big.  We've  got  the  site,  old  man,  and 
she'll  whoop  up  yet,  I'm  telling  you." 

The  two  walked  on  toward  the  major's  home,  six  or 
eight  blocks  away,  and  up  the  picturesque  grades,  talk 
ing  of  St.  Movadu's  past  and  of  its  future  prospects, possi 
bilities  and  probabilities,  until  they  reached  the  house  to 
which  they  had  started. 

The  cottage  was  not  a  large  one,  and  it  was  quite  plain 
as  to  architecture,  its  principal  ornaments  in  that  line 
being  a  bay  window  at  the  front  and  another  on  the  east 
side,  with  a  porch  beside  each  window;  but  over  windows 
and  porches  there  was  a  wealth  of  running  rose-bushes, 
honey-suckles  and  other  vines  that,  almost  hid  them,  and 
late  autumn  as  it  was,  -these  vines  were  all  bending  with 
a  wealth  of  bloom. 

Proudly  the  major  handed  his  guest  up  the  short  flight 
of  steps  that  led  to  the  front  gate,  and  without  a  thought 
of  entering  the  building,  led  the  attorney  through  the 
grounds  from  one  clump  of  brilliant  foliage  to  another, 
all  the  time  chattering  away  in  his  enthusiastic  and  some* 
tinier  extravagant  manner, 


186  AN  ARISTOCRATIC  DEMOCRAT 

"Look  at  that  Marechal  Niel,"  he  said.  "Did  you 
ever  see  anything  like  it?  Didn't  I  tell  you,  you  never 
saw  any  roses?  Look  here — talk  about  the  yellow  rose  of 
Texas — how's  that  for  a  yellow  rose?  Come,  give  it  up 
now.  Did  you  ever  see  any  roses  before?" 

"Don't  think  I  ever  did,  major,"  meekly  and  admir 
ingly  the  lawyer  admitted. 

"That's  right,  Cam,  always  tell  the  truth.  It  might 
bother  you  a  little  professionally  at  times,  but  we  won't 
count  that.  How's  that  for  La  Frances,"  and  the  major 
lovingly  put  his  arms  half  way  around  a  golden,  glowing 
and  lusty  specimen  of  that  kind  of  a  rose  tree. 

"Takes  me  to  raise  roses,  Cam,"  he  continued.  "  'Bout 
four  feet  down  there  I  piled  in  broken  stone,  for  about 
two  feet;  keeps  it  damp  down  there,  you  know,  and  gives 
the  roots  something  to  cling  to.  Then  I  filled  up  with 
rich  dirt,  and  there  you  are — roses — see  'em?  But  ain't 
they  roses?  Look  at  that  vine.  I  brought  a  slip  of  that 
from  my  old  home,  out  here.  My  mother  taught  me  how 
to  raise  roses.  I  wouldn't  take  a  house  and  lot — no  joke 
meant — I  wouldn't  take  a  mint  for  that  rose  vine.  I'll 
bet  that  for  the  last  four  months  I  could  have  cut  a  thou 
sand  roses  a  day  on  these  four  lots,  Now  take  a  little 


AN  ARISTOCRATIC  DEMOCRAT  187 

peep  in  here,"  and  the  major  pulled  back  the  foliage  of 
some  currant  bushes  of  which  there  was  a  long  row  be 
side  the  walk  around  the  house.  The  amber  arrd  crim 
son  fruit  hung  in  great  bunches  on  the  bushes. 

"No  currants  in  there,"  he  went  on ;  "not  a  single  cur 
rant.  Can't  see  any  currants,  can  you?"  pulling  back 
bush  after  bush  and  exposing  the  berries  in  all  their  beau 
tiful  plenty.  "They've  gathered  currants  from  those 
bushes  to  make  jam  and  jelly  enough  to  feed  an  army — 
small  sized  army — and  now  there  are  none  left.  Can't 
see  a  darned  currant,  can  you  Cam?" 

Then  the  jolly  major  turned  to  the  strawberry  patch 
The  leaves  of  the  plants  had  for  the  most  part  turned 
yellow  and  crimson;  some  green  leaves  were  left  and 
here  and  there  a  great  belated  berry  peeped  out. 

"There's  a  piece  of  ground  fifty  feet  square.  There  are 
about  five  hundred  plants  on  the  space.  I'll  bet  you  a 
horse  against  a  box  of  pills  that  we  took  ten  bushels  of 
strawberries  off  of  that  piece  of  ground  this  season.  And 
say,  my  son,  some  of  them  were  as  big  as  a  tin  cup — pint 
cup,  mind  you.  Lots  of  them  were  eight  and  nine  inches 
in  circumference  and  weighed  near  half  a  pound  apiece." 


188  AN  ARISTOCRATIC  DEMOCRAT 

"I  know  that,"  Campbell  agreed;  "I  saw  a  few  of 
them  down  at  Kingsbury's." 

"Yes,  I  sent  a  few  of  them  down  there,"  the  major  ex 
plained,  "as  the  best  place  for  folks  to  see  them.  Never 
sold  any  of  them.  Never  sold  a  cent's  worth  of  any 
thing  that  the  good  Lord  gave  me  from  the  bosom  cf 
Mother  Earth  in  my  life.  Raise  enough  stuff  for  my 
family,  balance  goes  to  whoever  will  come  after  it,  if 
they  are  respectable  people.  Tramps  not  admitted." 

"Here,  Bulger!" 

A  big  dog  came  bounding  toward  the  major.  "Tramps 
not  admitted,  are  they,  Bulger?  Look  over  yonder,  Cam. 
Don't  see  any  cabbages,  do  you.  Krout  enough  for 
St.  Movadu.  More  than  enough  if  people  don't  quit 
going  away.  Oh,  no!  no  cabbages,  and  turnips  and 
rutabagas,  and  beets  and  carrots  and  things,  oh,  no!  And 
say,  Cam,  now  admit  again.  Did  you  ever  really  see  any 
roses  before?" 

"Cam"  admitted  again,  and  the  major  said,  "Come  in, 
let's  get  a  drink  of  water."  He  led  Mr.  Campbell  through 
the  back  hall  and  into  what  the  major  called  his  "den,"  a 
room  that  was  a  curiosity  in  itself,  besides  being  crowded 
with  innumerable  other  curiosities.  There  were  elk 


AN  ARISTOCRATIC  DEMOCRAT  189 

heads,  carraboo  heads,  moose  heads,  taxidermized.  Sea 
shells,  a  chair  made  of  the  long  polished  horns  of  Texas 
cattle,  a  big  wagon  load  of  healthy  looking  and  solid  old 
books,  ranged  on  open  shelves.  There  was  a  rag  carpet 
on  the  floor.  "Mother  made  it,"  the  major  said,  meaning 
his  wife,  and — 

Oh,  well,  let's  not  stop  to  enumerate  and  catalogue 
the  contents  of  the  major's  den,  except  to  say  that  there 
were  also,  besides  the  major's  desk,  and  some  large 
and  comfortable  chairs,  and  a  lounge,  a  hospitable  look 
ing  side-board. 

The  two  were  seated,  and  the  major  in  his  stentorian 
voice  called  out  "Mother!" 

Almost  in  the  same  moment  a  pleasant-faced  and  smil 
ing  matron  of  about  forty  entered,  in  the  home  garb  that 
she  usually  wore  when  about  her  household  duties,  ex 
cept  the  gingham  apron  that  she  had  laid  aside  when  she 
found  a  visitor  was  in  the  house. 

Mrs.  Stamina  bore  in  her  right  hand  a  pitcher  rilled 
with  water  and  some  ice  that  jingled  refreshingly  against 
the  inside  of  the  vessel.  In  the  other  hand  were  a 
couple  of  big  goblets  held  at  the  stems  by  her  ample 
fingers. 


190  AN  ARISTOCRATIC  DEMOCRAT 

"You've  met  Judge  Campbell?"  said  the  major. 

"Oh,  yes,"  from  both  Mrs.  Stamina  and  the  lawyer — 
all  lawyers  were  "judge"  with  the  major  on  such  occa 
sions. 

The  two  shook  hands,  Mrs.  Stamina  offering  some 
words  of  welcome  that  were  received  with  polite  re 
sponse  by  the  lawyer. 

"I  heard  you  ask  Mr.  Campbell  to  come  in  and  get  a 
drink  of  water,"  said  Mrs.  Stamina,  with  a  knowing  smile, 
"so  I  brought  it  with  me,  you  see,"  and  she  pointed  to 
the  pitcher  of  ice-water  that  she  had  deposited  on  the 
table. 

"Water  is  an  excellent  drink,"  quoth  the  major  in  a 
serio-comic  way,  "but  an  eminent  physician  once  gave 
me  a  prescription  by  which  I  could  very  much  improve 
water.  Mother,  I'll  bet  a  lot  in  Worrell's  addition  that 
there  isn't  a  sprig  of  mint  on  earth,  especially  in  this 
neighborhood,"  and  again  the  major  looked  humorously 
serious. 

"Come  on,  Teddy,  come,"  said  Mrs.  Stamina  to  a 
sturdy  "chunk  of  a  boy"  whom  the  major  and  wife  had 
taken  from  a  foundling  house  seven  or  eight  years  before 
and  adopted  as  their  own,  not  being  blessed  with 


AN  ARISTOCRATIC  DEMOCRAT  191 

offspring  their  very  own.  And  Ted  came  almost  in 
stantly  afterward,  bearing  a  big  bunch  of  mint  that  he 
had  gathered  almost  under  the  window  of  the  major's 
den. 

Meantime  the  major  was  looking  through  his  desk  for 
that  "prescription  to  improve  water."  "But,"  he  said, 
"you  know  it  by  heart,  mother;  please  concoct  it  for  us," 
notwithstanding  that  the  good  lady  had  already  begun 
the  delightful  task.  Anything  she  could  do  for  Major 
Stamina  and  his  guests  was  a  pleasure  for  that  excellent 
wife. 

The  major  continued,  however,  to  search  for  the  "pre 
scription,"  "because,"  he  declared,  "I  want  Judge  Camp 
bell  to  have  a  copy  of  it.  Why,  it  may  save  his  life  some 
time.  Ah!  here  it  is,"  and  the  major  unfolded  a  some 
what  brown-with-age  piece  of  manuscript  and  gave  it  to 
Mr.  Campbell,  who  read  from  it  as  follows: 

"Sacch.  alb  zii 

Cum.  aqua  font,  quant,  suff. 

Cognac  fort.  zip. 

Spir.  frumenti  quant,  suff. 

Fol.  menth.  vir.  vel  pip.  ad  lib, 

Fiat  infuswm  et  add, 


192  AN  ARISTOCRATIC  DEMOCRAT 

Glacies  pulv.  quant,  stiff. 

Omnia  misce. 

Repeat  dose  three  or  four  times  a  day  until  cold 
weather  sets  in. 

The  "prescription  to  improve  water"  being  filled,  the 
major  and  Mr.  Campbell  accepted  one  each  from  Ted  and 
Mrs.  Stamina  and  proceeded  to  take  the  "dose"  from  the 
goblets  in  light  sips,  as  per  directions,  and  the  conversa 
tion  proceeded — increased  in  fact — for  one  of  the  names 
of  that  prescription  is  "conversation  water." 

Mrs.  Stamina  and  Ted  had  left  the  room,  bent  upon 
some  important  errand  to  the  yard,  which  was  probably 
the  collection  of  a  big  boquet  for  Mr.  Campbell,  and  let 
us,  dear  reader,  leave  them  there  awhile  with  that  "pre 
scription." 

Thus  we  would  be  coadjutors  in  Major  Stam'.na's 
hospitality. 

With  a  mint  julep,  isn't  a  bad  place  to  leave  a  couple  of 
friends. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Reminiscences. 

More  fit  for  me  a  sweet  refrain 

Of  home  and  long  ago — 
Harp  of  the  south,  I  strike  again 

The  dear  old  quaint  banjo. 

— Harp  of  the  South, 

I've  heard  it  in  the  evening 

Within  a  quiet  home, 
Sing  "Suwanee  River"  till  the  bees 

Came  humming  round  the  comb. 

— The  Governor's  Violin. 

In  that  region  of  country  along  the  Pacific  coast  of  the 
United  States  from  the  northern  part  of  California  on  the 
south  to  the  British  possessions  on  the  north,  and  west 
of  the  Cascade  range  of  mountains,  the  variations  of  tem 
perature  from  one  year's  end  to  another  are  compara 
tively  even.  For  the  most  part  the  inhabitants  wear 
nearly  the  same  thickness  of  clothing  all  the  time,  adding 
in  winter — the  rainy  season — a  mackintosh  or  other  water 
proof  wrap.  But  rarely  do  snow  and  ice  come  in  the  val- 

(193) 


194  REMINISCENCES 

leys  to  great  depth  or  thickness,  but  rarely,  and  seldom 
in  summer  is  there  much  heat.  It  is  never  intense.  Some 
times  an  entire  winter  will  pass  without  snow  or  ice,  and 
often  summers  without  greater  heat  than  that  of  a  balmy 
day  in  springtime  in  the  middle  and  eastern  states.  Rut 
generally  the  winter  months  and  the  first  two  of  spring 
weep  almost  incessantly  with  light  rains,  to  which  the 
people  become  inured  and  which  they  rather  like. 

It  was  about  two  months  after  the  incidents  related  in 
the  last  chapter  that  the  winter  rains  set  in  on  St.  Movadu 
and  all  the  region  described.  The  young  city  had  become 
more  and  more  pathetic  in  its  deserted  state.  From  a 
population  of  ten  thousand  or  more  it  had  dwindled  to 
less  than  two  thousand  souls,  and  many  of  these  remained 
because  they  could  not  get  away.  The  few  that  could 
have  gone  had  their  entire  capital,  great  or  small,  invested 
in  city  property  that  was  utterly  unsalable  at  any  price. 
Some  who  had  been  purse-proud  and  arrogant  were  as 
humble  as  the  patient  cows  that  proud  dames,  thereto 
fore,  were  now  milking  twice  a  day,  and  glad  for  them 
selves  and  their  children  that  these  docile  beasts  yielded 
much  of  their  sustenance. 

The  gambler  and  his  female  companion,  like  the  first 


REMINISCENCES  195 

rats  to  desert  a  sinking  ship,  were  all  gone.  Every 
drinking  place  but  one,  of  the  more  respectable  class, 
were  closed.  There  were  yet  one  or  two  of  the  viler 
groggeries  in  the  lower  portions  of  the  abandoned  city 
that  continued  to  eke  out  a  squalid  existence  by  the  occa 
sional  sale  of  a  "jolt"  of  fire  and  liquid  damnation  to  a 
pitiful 'hanger-on.  Nearly  all  the  retail  stores  and  shops 
presented  locked  and  barred  front  doors,  the  stocks  hav 
ing  been  moved  to  more  prosperous  places. 

In  short,  St.  Movadu  was  as  dead  as  it  seemed  possible 
for  such  a  place  to  ever  become.  Even  the  spirit  of 
friendliness  was  dead  that  had  existed  between  those  of 
the  people  who  belonged  to  either  of  the  classes  prom 
inent  during  the  city's  prosperity;  the  brain  and  brawn 
that  had  been  the  working  bees  of  the  hive,  and  the 
"nouveaux  riches"  that  had  assumed  parvenu  airs. 

There  were  exceptions  to  this  among  very  small  co 
teries  or  couples.  The  times  had  brought  the  test  of 
friendship.  When  money  was  plentiful  and  all  who  were 
possessed  of  strength  and  ambition  were  prosperous,  it 
was  easy  for  men  to  be  liberal,  accommodating  and  ap 
parently  generous;  but  when  the  depression  came,  the 
true  nature  of  every  individual  was  unveiled.  Thus  men 


196  REMINISCENCES 

who  had  appeared  to  be  benevolent  and  public  spirited 
were  seen  to  be  small,  stingy  and  selfish.  The  true  hearts 
were  of  course  unchanged. 

The  sincere  friendships  that  had  been  in  the  days  of 
prosperity  or  that  were  forged  together  in  the  trials  of  ad 
versity,  grew  even  stronger  and  more  conspicuous,  and  of 
these  that  between  Major  Stamina,  Jack  Lacy,  Dr. 
Somerset  and  Arthur  Campbell  would  have  delighted  the 
most  perfect  optimist  and  astonished  the  most  intense 
pessimist. 

Campbell  and  Stamina  were  almost  inseparable.  Lacy 
was  not  so  much  with  them.  He  was  the  one  prosperous 
man  of  the  city.  His  mine  was  paying  handsomely,  even 
in  the  process  of  its  development,  but  it  was  not  samuch 
the  exactions  of  his  business  that  kept  him  out  of  the 
desired  company  of  his  two  friends  as  his  remarkable 
devotion  to  old  Dan  Duncan  who  was  now  a  confirmed 
invalid,  confined  all  the  time  to  his  rooms  and  for  the 
most  part  to  his  bed. 

Lacy  had  grown  fond  of  the  old  man,  long  before  that 
passing  pioneer  had  unbosomed  to  the  Bohemian  his 
secret — not  only  the  secret  of  his  wealth,  but  another  in 
which  Lacy  was  more  interested. 


REMINISCENCES  197 

Lacy's  noble  sweetheart,  Ada  Benson,  continued  also 
to  give  the  old  man  every  attention  that  maidenly  mod 
esty  and  her  spare  hours  from  school  would  permit,  and 
there  grew  a  tie  between  the  invalid  old  man  and  the 
bright,  handsome  and  healthy  woman  that  was  the  more 
astonishing  when  the  disparity  of  their  ages  and  the  great 
contrast  of  character,  bearing  and  attainments  were  con 
sidered.  And  yet  the  old  man  betrayed  a  gallantry,  now 
and  then,  that  would  have  been  a  credit  to  a  courtier. 

"I  don't  want  you  to  be  hampered  up  in  that  thar 
school,  that's  my  turn  turn,"  he  sometimes  said  in  almost 
a  whine  or  whisper,  the  tone  induced  by  his  illness  and 
weakness,  and  in  the  remnant  of  East  Tennessee  dialect 
that  had  clung  to  him  through  all  the  years  of  his  semi- 
hermitage  at  Duncan's  Cove,  using  occasionally  a  word 
from  the  Siwash  jargon  familiar  to  him  for  twenty 
years.  "Thar  ain't  no  use  fur  it.  Jack's  go';  enough  to 
keep  his  fewter  wife  out  of  the  rain,  goin'  and  comin',  and 
then  bein'  cooped  up  thar  with  them  young  ones  all 
day—" 

"But  I  like  it,  Uncle  Dan,"  she  had  long  ago  asked 
and  obtained  permission  to  call  him  'Uncle  Dan'.  "They 


198  REMINISCENCES 

are  bright  children  generally,  and  they  love  me  and  I  love 

them.    It  is  a  pleasure  to  teach  them  and — 

"You  would  not  rob  her  of  what  little  pleasure  she  can 
find  in  St.  Movadu,  would  you?"  interposed  Mr.  Lacy. 

"N-o-o,"  the  old  man  drawled.  "But  I  think  I  know  a 
heap  better  reason  in  her  mind  than  the  sorter  one  she 
gives,"  he  continued.  "Lhances  are  she  don't  want  to 
take  yo'  money  till  she's  married,  Jack.  I  know  the 
critters.  But  she'll  make  it  fly  then,"  with  a  feeble  laugh 
the  old  man  ended. 

"I  have  other  pleasures,  Jack,"  Miss  Benson  declared. 
"It  is  a  great  pleasure  to  be  allowed  to  come  here  to  see 
Uncle  Dan,  and  it  will  be  a  greater  one  to  see  him  get 
well  and  out  again.  But  with  all  this  rain,  I- am  afraid  it 
wouldn't  be  safe  for  him  to  go  out  for  a  long  time  after 
he  is  well." 

"I  wouldn't  keer  for  the  rain,  honey,  if  I  was  well; 
that's  skookum  for  me;  but  I  don't  much  'spect  to  get 
well  till  summer  comes  agin,  if  then." 

While  this  visit  was  proceeding  Major  Stamina  and 
Arthur  Campbell,  who  were  also  frequent  visitors  at  Dan 
Duncan's  rooms,  had  decided,  as  a  matter  of  reminis 
cence,  to  visit  the  apartments  of  the  Ajax  club  once  more. 


REMINISCENCES  189 

They  called  at  the  office  of  Tom  Hammond,  a  lonesome 
real  estate  dealer — without  deals — in  the  same  building, 
who  had  possession  of  the  keys  to  the  club  rooms,  being 
the  last  secretary  of  that  innocuous  organization. 

Having  obtained  the  means  of  entrance  to  the  unused 
place,  they  climbed  the  stairs  and  admitted  themselves  to 
silent  halls  that  had  been  the  scene  of  many  a  gay  and 
brilliant  gathering. 

They  found  a  feather  dusting-brush  that  was  very 
dusty.  Campbell  took  it  gingerly  by  the  feathers  and 
knocked  it  against  a  wall  until  the  dust  had  been  jarred 
from  the  handle,  which  he  also  wiped  with  his  handker 
chief,  much  to  the  detriment  of  that  piece  of  linen,  and 
then  he  brushed  the  dust  from  two  of  the  ample  chairs 
and  from  a  small  table.  Still  armed  with  the  brush,  he 
proceeded  to  another  room  where  stood  the  superb  side 
board,  and  dusted  about  that  until  he  could  read  the 
labels  on  some  wine  bottles,  from  which  he  selected  one 
that  contained  a  pint  of  old,  pale  sherry.  Securing  a  pair 
of  goblets,  he  washed  them  under  the  hydrant-tap  in  the 
room,  and  the  major, having  found  some  clean  napkins  in 
a  drawer  of  the  sideboard,  dried  the  glasses  with  them, 
and  the  two  went  back  to  the  great  reception  room,  drew 


200  REMINISCENCES 

the  table  toward  a  window  that  looked  out  on  the  main 
portion  of  the  city,  and  with  few  words  between  them, 
sat  at  the  table,  tersely  remarking  "How,"  while  they 
touched  their  glasses  and  drank. 

As  if  by  the  same  impulse,  both  started  up  and  separ 
ately  began  a  tour  of  the  place,  inspecting,  as  if  they  had 
never  seen  them  before,  the  many  excellent  paintings  and 
engravings  that  hung  almost  dust-veiled  against  the 
frescoed  walls. 

They  wandered  into  the  billiard  room  with  its  tables 
under  their  black  covering  of  rubber  cloth,  that  were 
now  gray  with  a  depth  of  dust  upon  which  some  other 
visitor  had  lately  written,  with  a  finger,  his  name  and 
the  date  of  his  call;  then  into  the  card  rooms  and  the 
office,  through  a  drawing  room  and  back  again  to  the 
grand  reception  hall,  where  the  major  who  had  never 
been  quiet  so  long  before  in  his  life,  ejaculated:  "Say, 
Cam,  this  is  pretty  nigh  awful." 

"Yes,"  responded  the  lawyer, — 

"I  feel  like  one  who  treads,  alone, 
Some  banquet  hall  deserted." 

"That's  about  the  size  of  it,"  the  major  laconically  re- 


REMINISCENCES  201 

plied,  and  moved  toward  the  bottle  of  sherry  again,  from 
which  he  took  another  hearty  draught. 

"I'll  join  you,"  said  Campbell,  and  after  following  the 
major's  example  as  to  the  sherry,  the  two  resumed  the 
seats  they  left  and  gazed  out  of  the  window  over  the  sad- 
looking  city  and  toward  the  broad  bay  that  was  bereft  of 
sail,  or  any  craft,  save  one  little  stern-wheel  steamer  that 
always  kept  close  to  shore  and  navigated  a  small  river, 
the  mouth  of  which  was  at  an  estuary  on  the  St.  Movadu 
side  of  the  bay,  two  or  three  miles  away. 

One  or  two  persons  came  to  the  front  door  of  one  of  the 
groceries  left — and  looked  up  as  if  astonished  to  see  peo 
ple  in  the  Ajax  club  rooms. 

"Can't  do  justice  to  the  subject,"  was  the  major's  some 
what  obscure  remark.  But  Campbell  understood  it  as 
applying  to.  the  present  condition  of  St.  Movadu,  and  he 
wisely  offered  the  suggestion: 

"Don't  try  to  do  it,  major." 

"Say,  lemme  tell  you,"  the  major  continued,  "this  is  a 
sort  of  dispensation  of  Providence  against  them  dad- 
ratted  fools  that  got  too  big  for  their  clothes  when  things 
were  humming  in  these  parts.  But  I  don't  see  why  all 
the  balance  of  us  have  to  take  their  punishment,  Still,  I 


202  REMINISCENCES 

can't  help  but  say  that  it  made  me  feel  rather  good  to  see 
that  Phdps  woman  coming  down  the  other  day  with  a 
cake  she  had  baked  to  have  it  sold  at  Pete  McGowan's 
restaurant;  people  got  to  eat,  you  know,  and  it's  my  opin 
ion  that  the  Phelps  woman  can  bake  better  than  she  can 
do  anything  of  a  social  nature."  • 

"The  most  painful  thing  to  me,  major,  is  to  see  those 
Pugh  girls  slaving  away  down  at  Small's  little  one-horse 
laundry.  Their  father  is  utterly  poverty-stricken.  Went 
his  length  and  more  too  on  the  Bay  View  addition,  and 
Grayhunt  has  foreclosed  on  him  and  cleaned  him  up." 

"Well,  I've  suffered  more  acutely  from  other  causes 
than  that,"  remarked  the  major,  "and  I'll  bet  a  house  and 
lot — no  joke  meant — against  a  jug  of  buttermilk  that  they 
will  be  able  to  stand  it.  They've  got  hands  as  broad  as 
charity,  and  that  look  like  they  would  cover  a  wash-board 
to  a  nicety." 

"They  are  not  washing,  however:  they  are  only  iron 
ing,"  Mr.  Campbell  explained  just  as  Jack  Lacy  en 
tered,  carrying  a  japanned  cash-box  by  the  top  handle. 

"I've  been  chasing  you  two  half  an  hour,"  said 
Lacy,  "and  probably  would  never  have  found  you  if  I 
hadn't  happened  to  run  against  Tom  Hammond,  who  told. 


REMINISCENCES  203 

me  you  had  got  the  keys  to  the  club.  What  on  earth 
brought  you  up  to  this  souvenir  of  busted  parvenuism?" 

"Just  came  up  to  take  a  retrospective  view,"  the  major 
answered. 

"You  wouldn't  take  a  glass  of  sherry,  would  you, 
Lacy?"  from  Campbell,  politeness  mixed  with  depreca 
tion. 

"I  should  say  not,"  the  major  promptly  responded  for 
Jack. 

"Both  of  you  are  wasting  your  politeness  and  solic 
itude,"  Jack  said  in  a  tone  of  mock  severity. 

"There  is  no  danger  of  my  going  into  that  sort  of 
thing  again.  The  Keeley  cure  is  all  right,  and  when 
added  to  the  Lacy  cure  it's  a  specific." 

"The  Lacy-Benson  cure,"  laughed  the  major. 

"Well,  put  it  that  way  if  you  choose,"  said  Lacy,  who 
had  been  manipulating  the  feather  duster  over  the  piano 
lid  and  the  keys.  Then  seating  himself  at  the  instrument 
he  struck  a  chord  and  sang: 

"Down  the  winding  river  drifting 

I  am  coming,  love,  to  you; 
Through  the  trees  the  moonlight's  sifting, 

'Cross  my  dug-out,  gum  canoe; 


204  REMINISCENCES 

Coming,  honey  love,  to  you. 
In  the  deep,  dark  woods  a  hiding 

Pipes  the  whining  whip-poor-will, 
All  the  other  birds  a-chiding 

With  his  'plaining  'still,  be  still,' 
Like  my  heart,  old  whip-poor-will. 

Now  my  mocking  bird  sing  true, 

Though  the  old  owl  hoots  'to  who?' 

And  the  ring-dove  says  'not  you.' 
So  the  mock-bird's  softly  trilling 

From  his  trembling  heart  and  mouth 
That  sweet  song  my  soul  is  thrilling. 

For  my  honey  'way  down  south, 

For  my  honey  'way  down  south." 

"My,  but  ain't  that  pooty! '  the  major  exclaimed. 

"It  has  the  fragrant  breath  of  the  old  south,"  the 
lawyer  declared,  and  Jack  closed  the  piano,  remarking  as 
he  did  so: 

"I  have  got  to  like  the  little  thing  myself  because  Dan 
Duncan  is  so  very  fond  of  it.  I  often  sing  it  for  him  with 
the  banjo,  and  he  says  it  take3  him  back  to  old  Tennessee 
and  his  boyhood,  when  he  used  to  float  down  the  French 
Broad  in  his  canoe  on  a  visit  to  his  sweetheart  and  paddle 
back  by  the  moonlight.  That  old  man  is  as  full  of  senti- 


REMINISCENCES  205 

ment  as  one  of  Tom  Moore's  poems.  In  his  illness  and 
weakness,  he  seems  to  think  of  little  else  than  his  youth 
and  young  manhood  in  his  southern  home  of  that  time, 
and  talks  and  dreams  of  them  day  and  night.  That  and 
his  love  for  Ada  Benson  and  myself,  are  deeply  touching 
to  me,  and  the  word-pictures  he  makes  in  mixed  Siwash 
and  southern  dialects  would  be  masterpieces  of  art  and 
song  if  they  could  be  painted  and  sung." 

"How's  the  old  man  getting  along?"  Major  Stamina 
asked. 

"I  think  he  is  near  the  end,"  Lacy  replied,  "and  he 
wants  to  see  you  and  Campbell  this  evening  if  you  can 
possibly  get  there.  This  box,"  tapping  it  with  his  finger, 
Lacy  continued,  "is  his.  It  was  in  the  National  Bank 
vault,  and  he  sent  me  to  get  it.  I  think  it  is  concerning 
its  contents  that  he  desires  to  see  you,  Campbell,  as  an 
attorney  and  the  major  as  witness.  Probably  his  will. 
Can  you  come?" 

"I'll  be  there,  sure,"  the  major  replied,  and  bring  Cam. 
with  me.  You'll  go?" 

"Of  course." 

"And  Ada  Benson,"  quoth  the  major. 


206  REMINISCENCES 

"You  are  a  great  guesser,  major,"  from  Lacy.  "Till 
then  good-bye,"  and  Lacy  hurried  away. 

Campbell  and  Stamina  resumed  their  seats  at  the  little 
table  and  consulted  the  sherry  bottle  again,  yet  both  were 
unusually  temperate  men.  Their  Samples  of  the  seductive 
old  wine  were  small  enough,  and  there  was  a  sadness 
about  the  deserted  club  and  the  deserted  city  that  they 
could  see  from  the  windows,  with  the  soughing  of  the 
wind;  the  sobbing  of  the  sea  swells  on  the  beach;  the 
dripping  of  rain  upon  the  window  sills;  the  air  of  an 
tiquity  that  the  deep-settled  dust  upon  the  furniture 
gave  to  their  immediate  surroundings;  the  gravity  of  the 
times,  to  give  a  blue  tinge  to  their  thought  and  talk  that 
would  have  taken  more  pale  sherry  than  that  one  de 
canter  held  to  disperse  it  all. 

"Old  Duncan's  got  money,  and  heaps  of  it,  if  you  hear 
me,"  the  major  said,  almost  mysteriously,  "and  he  will 
give  it  all  to  Jack  and  Ada,  I'll  bet  a  game  hen,  and 
somehow  I'm  depending  on  Jack  to  lift  things  here.  Say, 
man,  that  fellow's  sharper  than  a  razor.  Blame  me  if  he 
ain't  been  buying  a  whole  square  right  plump  in  the  heart 
of  this  place,  according  to  the  town  plat — that  vacant 
square  north  of  the  Woodworth  hotel ;  and  he  got  it  at  a 


REMINISCENCES  207 

price  that  a  year  ago  wouldn't  have  bought  a  front  foot. 
I  know,  because  I  worked  the  deal.  Don't  mention  it. 
He  is  keeping  it  still  for  reasons  of  his  own  that  I  don't 
understand,  and  I  know  that  he  is  picking  up  lots  here 
and  there  wherever  he  can  get  them.  That's  why  he 
helped  many  a  starving  fellow  to  get  out  of  town,  and  in 
that  way  assisted  in  decreasing  the  population.  But  he 
said  that's  all  right.  *  'Fellows,'  he  said,  'that  come  here  to 
do  nothing  but  wait  for  a  rise  on  a  piece  of  ground  ain't 
no  good  anyhow/  and  blame  me  if  I  don't  think  he's  O. 
K.  on  that  proposition." 

"He  has  half  seriously  and  half  jokingly  said  to  me, 
several  times,  that  he  expected  to  need  my  services  as 
consulting  attorney  pretty  soon,"  Mr.  Campbell  confided. 

"And  blow  me  for  a  windmill,"  the  major  exclaimed,  "if 
he  didn't  tell  me  that  he  wanted  these  same  club  rooms 
for  his  private  offices.  But  Jack's  a  joker  as  well  as  a 
mighty  smart  fellow  and  a  jolly  good  one.  Visionary, 
though,  old  man — visionary  as  sure's  you're  born.  That's 
the  only  trouble  with  Jack,  he's  visionary." 

They  closed  and  locked  the  main  door  of  the  club 
house  and  descended  the  staircase,  having  arranged  to 
meet  at  the  Woodworth  house  office  at  eight  o'clock  that 


208  REMINISCENCES 

evening  to  call  on  Duncan,  the  invalid,  and  when  they 

had  reached  the  first  floor  the  major  declared  with  some 

vehemence: 

"If  I  had  to  go  up  there  often  I  would  insist  upon  an 
'alleviator.' " 

"More  puns  like  that  and  you'll  soon  be  on  the  lift." 

"Au  revoir,  major." 

"Good-bye,  Cam."  . 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

"The  Kicker"  Again. 

Big,  warning  drops,  like  skirmishers 

Rattle  amid  the  bowers: 
The  wind  weeps  through  the  pines  and  firs 

In  stillicides  of  showers; 
I  sit  in  the  hut  and  harken 

To  the  voices  of  the  storm 
And  I  watch  the  mountain  darken 

While  I  keep  thy  memory  warm. 

— Miner's  Memory. 

It  was  verily  a  winter  of  discontent  that  was  drawing 
on.  Overhead  lowering  clouds,  sending  down  rain. 
Rain,  continually  rain.  While  on  the  deserted  streets 
of  St.  Movadu  nothing  could  be  seen  save  a  semi-occa 
sional  electric  car,  a  disconsolate  and  lonesome  looking 
straggler  of  the  human  species;  now  and  then  a  wet,  be 
draggled  dog.  The  laitter  never  seemed  to  be  absent 
from  the  scene;  for  in  a  way,  the  saying  of  old  holds  good 
as  well  toward  a  town  as  toward  mankind,  the  dogs  in 
crease  with  its  poverty. 

(209) 


210  "THE  KICKER"  AGAIN 

In  this  winter  of  discontent  one  afternoon  that  was 
blustering  and  cold,  with  a  raw  wind  blowing  off  the  bay, 
and  continual  showers  swishing  against  the  windward 
side  of  the  houses,  a  knot  of  men  were  standing  inside 
the  front  doorway  of  Kingsbury's  saloon  moodily  looking 
up  and  down  the  deserted  streets  from  over  the  top  of  the 
ever-present  screen. 

The  place  did  not  bear  any  appearance  of  bustle  and 
spirit.  All  that  had  long  since  departed.  So  would 
have  Kingsbury  himself,  but  for  the  fact  that  what  he 
possessed  on  earth,  himself  and  family  included,  was  tied 
up  in  his  business,  which  consisted  of  the  little  remnant 
of  trade  that  pertained  to  his  saloon  and  its  fixtures.  The 
remainder  of  his  fortune  lay  buried  in  the  town  lots,  of 
which  he  was  the  owner,  in  St.  Movadu.  To  be  sure  the 
massive  safe  that  he  had  bought  in  the  days  of  the  boom, 
and  which  had  many  times  held  small  fortunes  of  cash, 
deposited  by  the  real  estate  men  in  neighboring  offices  after 
banking  hours,  still  contained  a  large  bundle  of  I.  O.  U.'s 
for  the  ever-ready  tens  and  twenties  lent  "until  morning" 
in  the  good  days. 

Lacy  once  remarked  that  if  Kingsbury  should  ever  be 
advised  to  travel  for  his  health  he  could  do  no  better  than 


"THE  KICKER"  AGAIN  211 

to  take  that  bundle  and  start  out  in  search  of  the  men 
whose  signatures  were  represented  there,  with  the  full 
assurance  that  he  would  hit  all  the  four  corners  of  the 
globe  in  his  search. 

The  side  door  was  suddenly  pushed  open,  in  an  ag 
gressive  manner,  and  while  the  loungers  turned  about  to 
see  who  came,  a  man  with  the  cape  of  his  coat  over  his 
head,  and  a  badly  demoralized  umbrella  in  his  hand,  blew 
in.  After  unsuccessfully  struggling  to  close  the  umbrella 
he  threw  it  in  a  corner  with  an  expression  of  despair, 
and  turned  toward  the  front  of  the  room,  disclosing  trie 
features  of  Mr.  James  Hiram  Young. 

"Huh,"  he  growled  with  an  expression  more  discon 
tented  than  usual,  "who  but  a-  driveling  idiot  would 
stay  in  such  a  place  as  this?  I  wish  I  could  get  my  hands 
on  the  man  who  wrote  about  the  Italian  climate  of  this 
country." 

"Hello,  Young." 

"How  are  ye,  Jim  Hiram?" 

"How  goes  it,  old  man?"  came  from  the  crowd. 

Kingsbury  leaned  back  against  the  inside  of  the  bar 
watching  Young  with  an  expression  on  his  face- that  was 
difficult  to  analyze. 


212  "THE  KICKER"  AGAIN 

"What  do  you  stay  here  for,  anyway?"  he  asked.  "It 
rather  seems  to  me  that  if  I  had  as  much  to  kick  about 
as  you  can  always  find,  I  would  remove  the  light  of  my 
countenance  to  some  more  favored  community." 

This  provoked  a  laugh  from  the  men  about  the  room, 
while  Young's  face  took  on  even  a  deeper  expression  of 
disgust. 

"You  fellows  give  me  a  pain,"  he  growled.  "Here 
you  are,  all  of  you,  standing  around  here  doing  nothing 
but  watching  this  town  going  to  the  devil.  If  you  had 
any  life  in  your  blamed  skins  you  would  have  got  out  of 

here  long  ago;  or  else  done  something,  to  keep  things 

0 

up  a  little  bit.  What  did  I  tell  you  a  year  ago,  gentle 
men,  when  you  were  talking  about  a  thousand  dollars  a 
front  foot  for  lots  on  the  avenue  here.  You  were  all 
idiots,  gentlemen — that's  what  I  said — and  I  struck  it 
plumb." 

"See  here,  Hiram,"  spoke  up  one  of  the  men,  "do  you 
know  I  think  this  town  has  a  Jonah — or  a  hoodoo — 
and  I'm  not  far  from  right  in  thinking  he  is  a  man  about 
your  size.  What  did  you  ever  do,  when  money  was  as 
plenty  as  rain  is  now;  when  everybody  had  it;  and  when 
you  got  a  whack  at  it,  too?  What  did  you  do  except  sit 


"THE  KICKER"  AGAIN  213 

around  and  growl,  and  back-cap  every  play  you  couTd 
with  that  kick  of  yours?  What  did  you — " 

"Hold  on  there,  suh,"  Hiram  broke  in;  "didn't  I  tell 
the  truth?  Didn't  it  pan  out  just  as  I  said  it  would? 
Haven't  all  you  gentlemen  lost  what  money  you  put  into 
this  deal?  And  ain't  you  standing  around  here,  suh,  just 
looking  for  a  chance  to  get  away?" 

"Well,  then,  Hiram,"  queried  one  of  the  men,  "what  are 
you  still  blowing  away  about?  Why  don't  you  some 
times  let  up?  You  ought  to  be  satisfied.  It  has  come 
out  as  you  said,  and  even  if  you  were  the  original  Jonah 
yourself,  things  couldn't  suit  you  better." 

"Say,  mer  son,  don't  get  too  fresh.  You  might  get 
swallowed  like  Jonah  was,"  said  Young,  and  his  face 
took  on  a  look  that  boded  ill  to  anyone  who  might  go  too 
far. 

"Don't  be  a  whale,"  said  one  young  fellow  that  Young 
was  very  fond  of,  and  who  patted  "the  kicker"  familiarly 
on  the  shoulder. 

This  somewhat  mollified  Jeems  Hiram,  and  before  he 
could  frame  a  good  humored  reply  a  hearty  laugh  came 
from  the  doorway  between  the  front  and  rear  parts  of  the 


214  "THE  KICKER"  AGAIN 

establishment,  where  stood  a  young  man  calmly  smok 
ing  and  evidently  enjoying  the  scene. 

He  nodded  to  Kingsbury  and  the  men  collectively,  and 
stepping  forward  said: 

"Pardon  me  for  interrupting  you,  gentlemen,  but  won't 
you  join  me  in  a  smile?  This  is  the  first  sign  of  life  I 
have  seen  since  I  struck  St.  Movadu  this  morning." 

The  invitation  was  readily  accepted.  Filling  their 
glasses  the  men  tossed  off  their  drinks  with  a  nod  toward 
the  stranger,  and  the  conventional  "how." 

"You'll  pardon  my  breaking  in  on  you,"  he  remarked, 
"but  man  is  a  gregarious  animal,  and  I  never  was  so 
lonesome  in  my  life.  Struck  here  this  morning  hoping  to 
sell  a  big  bill  of  goods,  and  found  no  one  to  sell  to.  Here 
I  am,  till  the  boat  goes  this  evening,  stranded  on  a  wet 
and  desolate  shore.  When  I  was  here  eighteen  months 
ago  you  were  lively  enough.  I  sold  a  bill  of  two  thou 
sand  dollars  in  an  hour  to  one  dealer — now  I  can't  even 
find  the  man,  much  less  his  store." 

"What  line  are  you  in?"  asked  Kingsbury. 

"Furniture,"  he  replied.  "I  travel  for  a  Chicago  house, 
and  this  is  my  second  trip  to  the  coast.  But  what  is  the 


"THE  KICKER"  AGAIN  215 

trouble  here?  What  has  become  of  the  people?  Where 
is  the  business  I  saw  when  I  was  here  before?'' 

That  was  Jeems  Hiram's  chance. 

To  get  hold  of  a  real  fresh  subject  upon  whom  he  could 
pour  all  his  pessimistic  theories,  was  rarely  vouchsafed 
him  nowadays,  and  it  was  needless  to  say  he  grasped  the 
opportunity  with  a  suddenness  that  jarred.  •« 

"Lemme  tell  you,  suh,"  Mr.  Young  said.  "It's  about 
this  way,  suh.  These  Land  Company  gentlemen  came  in 
here;  bought  a  lot  of  land  from  old  Duncan;  advertised 
all  over  the  country  what  a  wonderful  place  this  was,  snh; 
got  suckers  here  in  herds;  sold  'em  lots  for  five  hundred 
dollahs  a  foot  that  ain't  wuth  five  clollahs  an  acre;  pock 
eted  the  bundle,  suh,  and  then  told  the  poor  deluded 
devils  to  go  right  on  living.  Told  them  they  wouldn't 
charge  them  anything  for  the  air  they  breathed,  and  that 
they  could  walk  up  and  down  the  streets  without  paying 
a  cent.  They,  never  started  a  factory  or  a  farm,  suh,  and 
there's  nothin'  for  most  of  the  suckers  to  do  now  by 
which  t!-ey  can  keep  on  eatin'.  The  most  of  'em  got 
tired  out  and  disgusted,  so  they  flew  away,  as  well  as  they 
could — them  that  could  git  away;  and  the  Land  Com- 


216  "THE  KICKER"  AGAIN 

pany  scoops  in  the  lots  again  on  the  un-paid  contract. 
That's  what's  the  matter,  suh." 

''Sorry  to  hear  it,"  replied  the  drummer.  "This  place 
strikes  me  as  the  best  chance  on  the  coast  for  a  town,  and 
it  has  been  much  spoken  of  in  the  east.  Pardon  me  if  I 
seem  too  curious,  but  do  you  own  much  property  here?" 

Hiram  glared ;  while  a  subdued  snicker  ran  around  the 
room. 

"Me,  suh?  Me  buy  any  such  stuff  as  this?  Well,  I 
should  think  not.  Not  if  he  knows  himself  does  Jeems 
Hiram  get  mixed  up  in  a  deal  like  this.  When  I  was  a 
young  man  I  larned  something  that  has  always  stood  me 
in  good  turn;  and  that  was  never  to  play  against  another 
man's  game." 

"Oh,  I  see,"  said  Mr.  Drummer;  "you  are  like  the 
chorus  in  a  Greek  play.  You  just  stand  around  on  the 
back  of  the  stage  and  come  in  once  in  awhile  with  advice 
and  admonition." 

"You  can  bet  your  life  on  that,"  responded  Mr.  Young, 
"but  lemme  tell  you,  the  time  is  coming  after  this  place  is 
rid  of  all  the  shams,  shoddyism,  booming  and  real  estate 
trickery,  that  fortunately  are  fast  going,  St.  Movadu  will 


"THE  KICKER"  AGAIN  217 

be  the  best  town  and  the  biggest  one  on  the  Pacific 
coast." 

At  this  unwonted  and  optimistic  expression  of  Mr. 
Jeems  Hiram  Young,  who  had  been  so  long  known  as 
"the  kicker"  the  crowd  exhibited  in  various  ways  their 
well  warranted  astonishment. 

"Join  me  again,  please,"  said  the  commercial  angel, 
motioning  toward  the  bar.  They  joined  him. 

And  the  angel  flew  away. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

A  Wedding. 

So  long  as  truth  shall  live,  and  song  shall  tell 
His  name  is  thine,  and  thou  shalt  wear  it  well, 

Thy  beauty  and  thy  grace. 
And  from  his  hand,  as  master  at  the  feast, 
He'll  give  thee  glowing  days  from  out  the  east, 

To  light  thy  lovely  face. 

— Tacoma. 

When  Arthur  Campbell  and  Major  Stamina  reached 
Duncan's  rooms  at  the  Woodworth  that  evening,  as 
agreed,  they  found  the  apartments  presenting  an  appear 
ance  very  different  from  that  of  the  room  of  a  sick  man. 
On  the  .contrary  the  place  bore  a  cheerful  aspect  as  did 
the  persons  collected  there. 

A  gentle  and  tasteful  woman's  touch  was  upon  every 
thing;  an  air  of  neatness — not  too  neat,  but  just  neat 
enough — pervaded  the  place. 

With  the  simplest  contrivances,  art  had  assumed  a 
presence  in  the  room,  mingled  with  an  atmosphere  of 
clean  Bohemianism. 

Ada  Benson's  kind  and  loving  hand  had  touched  cur- 

(218) 


A  WEDDING  219 

tains  and  draperies  in  the  deft  and  sweetly  effective  way 
that  only  a  true  woman's' soul  and  taste  can  suggest,  and 
the  vase  of  rich  roses,  pinks  and  pansies,  whose  perfume 
redoled  the  apartments,  had  been  placed  upon  the  mantle 
by  her.  The  general  arrangement  of  things,  beyond  the 
mere  cleaning  work,  done  by  chambermaids,  was  hers. 
Even  the  fleecy,  and  comfortable,  and  handsome  woolen 
robe,  trimmed  at  cuffs  and  collar  in  purple  silk,  that  en 
veloped  old  Dan  Duncan's  feeble  form  as  he  reposed  in 
an  ample  arm  chair,  was  the  handiwork  of  this  refined  and 
womanly  \yoman.  The  little  organ  that  Ada  or  Jack 
often  played  upon  and  sang  with,  to  soothe  the  old  man, 
had  been  placed  there  by  Lacy,  and  the  banjo  with  small 
coins  set  under  the  feet  of  the  bridge  to  soften  the  twang 
ing  of  the  strings,  was  Jack's,  and  with  that  instrument 
he  sometimes  sang  the  plaintive  and  minor  songs  of  the 
Old  South  to  please  the  invalid. 

Campbell  and  Stamina  met  there,  upon  their  arrival, 
Ada  and  Jack  and  two  doctors — one  a  doctor  of  medi 
cine  and  the  other  of  divinity.  They  were  Dr.  Price, 
who  was  still  in  charge  of  what  was  left  of  the  tabernacle 
flock,  and  Dr.  Somerset,  both  men  of  breadth  and  brains 
in  their  callings. 


220  A  WEDDING 

The  clergyman  was  one  who  did  not  preach  for  the 
sake  of  proving  himself  so  brilliant  and  ''fashionable" 
that  he  would  get  the  loud  "call"  of  a  largely  increased 
salary  somewhere  else,  but  soulfully  and  manfully  pur 
sued  his  calling  as  an  humble  follower  of  the  Nazarene, 
and  while  he  taught  charity  he  practiced  also  that  saving 
virtue,  without  which  "all  is  as  sounding  brass  and  a 
tinkling  cymbal."  When  he  went  to  visit  Dan  Duncan, 
it  was  not  to  fill  the  invalid's  rooms  with  dolor  and  mel 
ancholy,  but  to  cheer  with  the  hope  of  a  future  "beyond 
the  range,"  and  to  talk  with  him  in  pleasant  \vays  upon 
any  subject  that  the  old  man  trended  toward,  or  along 
the  delightful  paths  of  thought  where  he,  as  a  man  of 
large  and  varied  information,  could  lead  the  old  man. 

The  medical  man  was  much  like  the  clergyman,  gen 
erally,  in  the  matter  of  breadth  and  liberality.  He  was 
one  who  called  a. mustard  plaster  by  its  name,  to  his 
patients,  and  without  the  desire  to  mystify  the  ignorant. 
He  told  them  that  such  a  plaster  would  burn  and  "make 
red"  the  skin ;  instead  of  speaking  of  it  as  a  "rubefacient." 
He  knew  that  the  simplest  things  and  the  simplest  words 
were  best  in  his  practice.  Though,  among  his  scientific 
brethren,  in  their  conventions  or  other  convocations,  he 


A  WEDDING  221 

was  as  able  as  any  of  them,  in  the  application  of  big- 
sounding  technicalities  to  all  things,  from  materia  med- 
ica,  through  diagnosis,  prognosis  and  symptoms,  to  prac 
tical  anatomy  and  even  medical  jurisprudence.  He  knew 
and  admitted  that  there  was  much  of  charlatanism  in  the 
practice  of  medicine,  in  all  the  schools,  but  held  for  the 
science  of  surgery  as  a  positive  one,  and  as  an  art  that 
outvies  that  of  the  sculptor  or  limner.  He  was  deep  in  its 
mysteries  and  was  blessed  with  those  powerful  aids  of 
surgery,  the  hand  of  a  woman,  the  heart  of  a  lion  and  the 
eye  of  an  eagle. 

Jack  Lacy  had  been  wise  enough  to  surround  the  old 
man  with  such  people,  his  gentle  and  beautiful  sweet 
heart  and  these  men  who  did  not  always  "talk  shop,"  but 
who  could  minister  to  the  mind  as  well  as  to  the  soul  and 
body.  It  was  such  a  company  as  this  that  Stamina  and 
Campbell  found.  And  what  a  glorious  company  of 
friends  they  were. 

The  old  man  was  glad  to  have  them,  and  after  pleasant 
and  familiar  greetings  all  around,  some  music,  and  gen 
eral  conversation  upon  the  subjects  that  all  were  inter 
ested  in,  old  Duncan  signified  that  he  desired  to  tell 
something  important  of  which  he  wished  them  to  be  wit- 


222  A  WEDDING 

nesses.  Seating  themselves  conveniently,  with  Jack  and 
Ada  on  either  side  of  him,  the  woman  caressing  the  old 
man's  thin  hand,  he  said  to  the  lawyer: 

"In  addition  to  my  property  in  St.  Movadu,  the 
deeds  for  which  are  in  that  little  box,"  pointing  to  the 
japanned  chest  that  stood  on. a  table  near  by,  "worthless 
as  they  may  be,"  he  continued,  "there  are  certificates  of 
deposit  for  $90,000,  and  with  them  my  will,  that  gives  the 
whole  kit  and  bilin'  to  Mr.  Jack  Lacy  here,  suh,  and  my 
daughter  Miss  Ada  -Benson  here,  suh." 

Such  a  look  of  astonishment  as  that  which  took  pos 
session  of  all  the  other  faces  present,  is  seldom  seen.  But 
it  was  one  of  delighted  astonishment,  and  Ada  gently 
folded  her  arms  about  the  old  man's  heck  and  head,  en 
veloping  him  in  such  a  way  that  his  further  speech  was 
stopped  for  a  moment,  and  he  placed  his  feeble  arms 
around  the  slender  waist  of  his  daughter. 

We  will  not  attempt  to  describe  the  scene  that  was  pre 
sented  for  a  few  moments ;  the  congratulations ;  the  tears 
of  joy;  the  air  of  exceeding  satisfaction  that  took  pos 
session  of  all.  But  while  it  seemed  so  strange,  no  one 
had  the  slightest  doubt  of  the  truthfulness  of  the  old 
man's  claim  upon  the  girl  as  to  their  relationship. 


A  WEDDING  223 

Then  the  old  man  told  his  story,  which  was  in  effect 
just  as  has  been  told  in  this  true  chronicle.  Though  he 
did  not  mention  the  faithlessness  of  his  wife  and  the 
death  of  her  paramour. 

"My  real  name,"  he  said,  "is  Daniel  Benson,  not  Dun 
can.  When  I  left  home  I  had  good  cause,  and  it  was 
fittin'  to  my  safety  to  change  my  name.  Ada  was  then  a 
mere  toddler,  and  to  leave  her  gave  me  the  worst  pain  of 
it  all,  though  it  pooty  nigh  broke  my  heart  to  have  to  go. 
I  come  to  this  place  by  degrees,  and  you  all  know  the 
rest.  The  papers  in  the^box  will  prove  everything  all 
skookum.  Ada's  mother  died  when  my  daughter  was 
little — I  hope  it  warn't  through  any  doin's  of  mine — and 
heruncle,  an  Ingeaner,  took  her  and  done  for  hertheright 
part.  I  leave  it  to  her  and  Jack  to  do  right  by  him  and  his'n. 

"They  are  goin'  to  git  married,  Jack  and  Ada,  and  I'm 
glad  of  it.  That's  the  reason  I  will  'em  my  stuff,  and  I 
hope  it  will  be  more  of  a  blessin'  to  them  than  it  has  ever 
been  to  me,  though  I  never  had  a  slippery  dollar  in  my 
life,  nor  nothin'  else  that  I  didn't  git  square." 

The  box  and  its  contents  were,  after  the  proper  in 
spection  by  all  present,  turned  over  to  Lawyer  Campbell, 
and  he,  with  Major  Stamina  and  Dr.  Price  retired  from 


224  A  WEDDING 

the  room  and  took  their  way  down  town. 

Dr.  Somerset  remained  to  keep  the  old  man  com 
pany  while  Jack  escorted  Ada  home  to  procure  some 
necessary  night  apparel  and  toilet  fixtures,  after  which 
they  returned,  and  until  her  father's  death,  which  oc 
curred  a  few  weeks  afterward,  the  young  lady  occupied 
a  room  adjoining  that  of  the  old  man.  She  loved  him 
now  more  than  ever,  since  their  relationship  had  been 
revealed;  the  fact  seemed  to  have  astonished  her  less  than 
it  did  the  others,  for  she  had  from  the  first  been  strangely 
drawn  toward  this  somewhat  uncouth  old  man  by,  per 
haps,  the  psychological  force  that  has  been  often  known 
to  assert  itself  under  similar  circumstances. 

So  it  was  arranged,  and  one  day,  about  a  week  after  the 
scene  described  in  the  first  part  of  this  chapter,  the  wed 
ding  took  place  in  Benson's  rooms,  witnessed  by  a  few 
friends,  among  them  Major  Stamina,  Campbell  and  Dr. 
Somerset.  Dr.  Price  officiated  and  Benson  gave  away 
the  bride. 

The  happy  couple  took  up  their  residence  temporarily 
at  the  Hotel  Woodworth,  sweethearts  wedded  and  sweet 
hearts  ever  after. 

Thus  for  once  the  course  of  true  love  ran  smooth. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 
"The  Colossus." 

The  rarest  of  the  glistening  gems 

That  deck  the  city's  brow — 
The  brightest  in  her  diadem 

Is  this  we're  setting  now. 
And  he  who  gave  the  temple  name 

Shall  crown  the  beauteous  queen, 
And  coming  years  shall  sing  his  fame 

And  keep  his  memory  green. 

— A  Modern  Temple. 

Old  Dan  Benson  was  thereafter  the  happiest  invalid 
known  to  history.  He  sat  day  after  day  in  his  big  arm 
chair,  tenderly  watched,  comforted  and  ministered  to  by 
his  gentle  and  loving  daughter  and  his  little  less  gentle 
and  loving  son-in-law.  He  heard  with  closed  eyes  and 
an  expression  of  quiet  pleasure  upon  his  face,  the  voice 
of  his  daughter  in  converse  and  song. 

Jack's  banjo  "Harp  of  the  South,"  with  the  plantation 
songs  the  young  man  sang,  carried  him  back  to  the  home 
of  his  youth,  till  he,  in  fancy,  sat  again  in  the  doorway  of 

(225) 


226  "THE  COLOSSUS" 

the  house  where  he  was  born,  or  by  its  great  hearthstone, 
and  heard  the  drone  of  the  spinning-wheel,  or  rambled 
among  the  summer-clothed  woods,  or  gathered  the  yel 
low  paw-paws,  and  caught  'possums  that  hung  caudal- 
pendant  to  the  boughs  of  trees,  in,  or  close  to  those  lus 
cious  orchards. 

One  evening,  within  the  month  that  comprised  the 
scenes  of  the  unfolding  of  Benson's  secret  and  the  wed 
ding,  Jack  and  Ada  had  been  softly  singing  together  at 
the  little  organ,  and  they  ceased  when  they  thought  the 
old  man  had  fallen  asleep.  Approaching  him  to  more 
comfortably  adjust  the  clothing  and  wraps  about  him, 
they  found  he  had  fallen  asleep,  indeed,  but  it  was  the 
sleep  that  knows  no  waking  this  side  of  the  Great  Un 
known. 

Poor,  old  Dan  Benson  had  gone  beyond  the  memories 
that  give  pain  or  pleasure;  far  away  had  his  spirit  taken 
flight,  and  upon  the  dead  face  there  yet  lingered  a  smile 
that  was  the  token  of  the  blissfulness  of  his  last  moments. 

Ada  fell  upon  her  knees  at  the  feet  of  her  dead  father 
and  sobbed  with  the  grief  of  a  loving  daughter  who  had 
been  so  long  bereft  of  parental  care  and  affection,  but 
who  had  just  found,  for  a  little  while,  all  the  deep  and 


"THE  COLOSSUS"  227 

tender  love  of  a  father,  uncouth  though  that  father  was, 
but  none  the  less  appreciative  of  her,  and  now  taken 
away  forever. 

Gently  did  her  husband  raise  the  sweet  wife  and  grief- 
stricken  daughter,  after  a  few  minutes,  and  he  led  her 
away  to  her  own  apartments,  to  remain  until  he  could 
have  the  proper  steps  taken  for  the  care  of  what  was  left 
on  earth  of  that  frail  tenement  that  had  so  long  held  within 
in  the  quiet,  unobtrusive,  self-sacrificing  and  yet  manly 
soul  of  the  Tennessean;  one  who  had  lost  his  own  wife 
in  the  bitterest  way,  and  with  her  the  childish  love  and 
his  own  care  of  their  little  one,  a  daughter  found  at  last 
in  the  strong  and  beautiful  woman  who  had  eased  his 
evening  hours  to  the  shores  of  that  bright  river  that  runs 
this  side  of  the  flowering  meadows  and  fair  fields,  whose 
dews  are  the  balsams  of  eternity. ' 

The  funeral  of  Daniel  Benson  was  as  imposing  as  St. 
Movadu,  in  its  stricken  condition,  could  make  it.  Dead, 
he  was  the  hero  of  the  day.  Every  civic  society  in  the 
city  turned  out  to  do  his  memory  honor.  The  ranks  were 
decimated  by  absentees,  but  a  nucleus  of  each  was  in  the 
cortege.  There  had  been  no  effort  on  the  part  of  the  im 
mediate  friends  of  Benson  to  have  such  a  demonstration, 


228  "THE  COLOSSUS" 

but  as  it  was  spontaneous  and  evidently  sincere,  it  was 
allowed  to  proceed,  and  thus,  followed  by  nearly  every 
adult  and  many  of  the  children  of  the  city,  the  body  was 
borne  to  the  little  cemetery  on  the  hill  and  there  depos 
ited  to  rest  until  the  last  great  day,  when  the  heavens 
shall  roll  back  as  a  scroll,  the  trump  of  the  archangel 
shall  sound,  and  Jehovah  in  all  His  unspeakable  power 
and  glory  shall  appear  to  judge  the  quick  and  the  dead. 

Jack  Lacy  did  not  wait  long  for  a  more  convenient 
time,  nor  did  he  ask  aid  from  those  who  did  honors  with 
banners,  and  regalia,  and  a  procession,  to  mark  the  spot 
where  the  pioneer  was  laid,  but  proceeded  at  once  to  have 
erected  above  the  grave,  a  plain  marble  monument,  upon 
which  was  engraved  the  name  of  Daniel  Benson  with  the 
date  of  his  birth  and  death  and  the  words: 

"He  was  the  pioneer  of  St.  Movadu." 

Lacy  meant  that  those  words  should  mean  more  in 
the  future  than  then. 

During  all  this  time  Lacy  had  not  been  inactive  with 
all  his  increasing  interests.  He  developed  his  gold  mine 
that  was  now  producing  handsomely.  His  great  and 
growing  fortune  was  carefully  and  systematically  placed 
where  it  would  do  the  most  good  and  to  be  held  in  re- 


"THE  COLOSSUS"  229 

serve  until  the  "hard  times"  should  blow  over,  that  had 
been  inaugurated  by  the  failure  of  the  Baring  Brothers, 
and  had  continued  to  increase,  until  it  seemed  that  the 
world  was  bankrupt. 

To  use  a  western  phrase,  the  west  was  "whip-sawed 
through  the  deal,"  and  this  continued  several  years,  until 
not  only  St.  Movadu  was  a  town  of  shreds  and  patches, 
the  pallid  ghost  of  a  city,  but  every  city  and  town  on,  the 
Pacific  coast  was  seriously  and  almost  ruinously  de 
pressed  in  a  business  way. 

Then  came  strikes  and  boycotts,  the  march  of  the 
commonwealers;  more  strikes — the  throes  of  the  people 
in  deep  distress. 

At  last  there  came  a  time  when  flesh  and  blood  could 
stand  it  no  longer.  The  people  spoke,  through  press  and 
forum,  on  the  streets  and  through  the  pulpit — the  mighty 
vox  populi — and  as  if  in  echo,  came  the  awful  Vox  Dei, 
appalling  the  worshippers  of  the  golden  calf,  who  seized 
their  yellow  god  and  fled  to  where  they  could  worship  it 
without  danger  from  the  people  of  America;  legislators 
were  brought  to  a  sense  of  right  and  justice,  and  a  fear  of 
the  people  that  overcame  the  love  of  lucre  fell  upon  them. 

The  repentance  for  them  was  too  late,  however,  for  the 


230  "THE  COLOSSUS" 

people  chose  truer  men  than  many  who  had  been  chosen 

before. 

Through  these  sterling  men,  American  independence  was 
again  declared.  Independence  of  foreign  control  through 
commercial  and  financial  influences.  The  nations  were 
told  that  they  should  take  the  money  that  the  govern 
ment  of  the  United  States  guaranteed  or  they  could  keep 
the  goods  they  desired  to  sell. 

At  first  such  governments  threatened  that  they  would 
buy  nothing  from  this  country,  but  our  wise  statesmen 
asked  them  if  they  had  ever  bought  a  pound  of  anything 
from  us  that  they  did  not  very  much  want,  and  they  could 
but  answer  "No." 

"There  is  only  one  thing  men  ever  buy  that  they  do 
not  need,"  Jack  Lacy  was  wont  to  say,  "and  that  is  too 
much  whisky.  Nations  are  not  even  so  foolish  as  men 
about  that.  They  do  not  buy  what  they  have  no  use  for, 
or  that  they  cannot  re-sell,  at  a  profit,  to  their  own 
people." 

The  new  order  of  things  brought  prosperity  rapidly  to 
the  whole  of  the  American  nation.  With  the  increase  of 
money  it  came  to  pass  that  men  preferred  to  own  property 
• — mills,  manufactories,  farms,  homes,  cattle.  Everything 


"THE  COLOSSUS"  231 

was  worth  more  than  money  and  the  production  of  every 
thing  that  men  could  use  for  comfort,  luxury  or  pleasure, 
was  done  in  America,  and  rail  and  sail  were  kept  busy 
transporting  to  and  fro,  hither  and  yon,  the  products 
of  millions  of  hands;  the  fullness  of  the  earth,  of  the  forests, 
of  every  possible  resource,  and  foremost  among  the  busiest 
and  most  prosperous  of  all  the  states,  in  all  of  this  era  of 
prosperity,  was  the  grand  young  commonwealth  of  Wash 
ington. 

Here  were  such  forests  of  cedar,  fir,  spruce  and  hem 
lock  as  are  not  known  to  exist  so  extensively  elsewhere, 
on  the  face  of  the  earth;  mountains  of  iron  ore,  and  vast 
treasures  of  coal  unsurpassed  in  the  world;  deposits  of 
gold  and  silver  in  the  mountains  beyond  the  wildest 
drjpams  of  men,  when  these  mines  shall  have  been  fully 
developed ;  agricultural,  horticultural  and  general  resources 
the  greatest  under  the  skies;  climate  of  perennial  joy  and 
a  scenery  the  grandest  poem  that  was  ever  sung  to  the 
full  diapason  of  nature's  mighty  organ,  whose  pipes  are 
these  canyons  and  gorges  and  eternally  snow-capped 
mountains. 

These  were  the  attractions  for  capital  and  energy  and 
enterprise,  and  they  drew  a  mighty  armv  of  workers  and 


232  "THE  COLOSSUS" 

the  employers  of  work,  and  the  vast  area  of  Washington 
and  all  the  Pacific  northwest  became  as  a  crowded  human 
hive,  busy,  earnest  and  happy. 

Lacy  had  used  his  gold  to  assist  in  developinggoodwill, 
as  well  as  in  other  ways.  He  had  all  along  been  mindful 
of  the  charities,  those  that  can  overlook  a  brother's  fault, 
and  those  that  can  fill  a  brother's  stomach  and  keep  him 
warm.  He  had  built  cosy  cottages  on  many  of  his  lots 
in  St.  Movadu.  Sometimes  they  were  terraced  tenements 
that  were  rented  at  reasonable  prices  to  his  employees 
as  they  came.  He  established  numerous  manufacturing 
and  producing  enterprises,  among  them  a  great  sawmill 
for  making  the  best  lumber  at  the  least  possible  cost;  a 
tub  and  barrel  factory  to  work  up  the  unequalled  cedar 
that  stood  in  seemingly  inexhaustible  forests  upon  thou 
sands  of  acres  near  St.  Movadu.  He  built  a  blast  fur 
nace  to  produce  iron,  and  a  smelter  to  reduce  silver  and 
gold  ores,  and  at  the  head,  as  chief  superintendent  of  all 
these  enterprises,  next  to  Mr.  Lacy  himself,  stood  Major 
Stamina  with  his  offices  in  the  rooms  of  the  old  Ajax  club, 
approached  by  the  "alleviator,"  for  Lacy  had  long  ago 
purchased  the  entire  building  and  was  using  it  as  his 
general  headquarters. 


"THE  COLOSSUS"  .  233 

With  Lacy's  enterprise,  and  the  return  of  good  times, 

St.  Movadu  awoke  once  again.    The  docks  were  crowded 

more  than  they  had  ever  been,  in  the  old  boom  days,  with 

vessels  from  every  coast  and  port. 

A  transcontinental  railway,  a  direct  thoroughfare  of 
com  aerce  across  the  North  American  continent,  had 
made  its  terminus  at  St.  Movadu  and  a  line  of  great  and 
gallant  steamers  had  been  established  to  run  to  the  ter 
minus  of  the  Siberian  railway  on  the  Asiatic  coast. 

The  narrowing,  as  toward  the  point  of  a  horn,  of  the 
Pacific  ocean  northward,  made  the  trip  across  the  Pacific 
from  St.  Movadu  to  Vladisvostock  many  hundred 
miles  nearer  than  by  the  old  routes  of  steamers.  Thus 
the  ocean  trade  of  America,  with  Asia,  and  much  of 
Europe  and  Africa,  was  largely  transferred  to  the  Nprth 
Pacific  ocean,  where  a  vast  fleet  of  American  ships  were 
engaged.  Russia  also  had  her  fleet  of  merchant  ships 
there,  and  Great  Britain  was  forced  for  the  protection  of 
her  own  commerce  to  enter  into  the  rivalry.  All  this  at 
tracted,  like  butterflies,  many  vessels  of  other  nations. 
Travelers  found  this  the  quickest  and  safest  route  to  the 
.  capitals  of  Europe,  and  westward  the  tourists  of  the  na 
tion  took  their  course  to  find  the  east. 


234  "THE  COLOSSUS" 

The  words  of  Benton,  the  statesman,  were  verified, 
when  in  the  senate  chamber  nearly  half  a  century  ago, 
he  pointed  toward  the  west  and  said:  'There  lies  the 
east;  there  lies  India." 

St.  Movadu  became  the  depot  of  American  trade  with 
Asia  and  the  transit  port  for  Asia's  trade  with  America. 
The  city  grew  with  a  wondrous  growth.  Its  business 
houses  rose  in  vast  and  almost  palatial  piles,  and  Lacy's 
wealth  became  enormous,  almost  beyond  compute,  but 
with  it  all  he  was  the  same  happy-hearted,  poetic,  tender 
and  chivalrous  man  that  he  had  been  when  he  was  only 
"Jack  Lacy,  Bohemian,"  and  his  Ada,  the  acknowledged, 
ideal  of  a  gentle  and  womanly  woman,  was  his  partner  in 
mighty  and  pervading  charities,  as  well  as  the  queenly 
head  of  his  elegant  though  simply  conducted  home  es 
tablishment. 

As  St.  Movadu  was  growing  to  be  the  mighty  metrop 
olis  of  the  Northwest  Pacific  coast,  Lacy  proceeded  to 
the  erection  of  the  one  monument,  designed  by  himself, 
to  be  one  that  would  give  aid  and  comfort  to  thousands 
and  be  an  architectural  crown  of  the  city  he  had  re 
deemed.  - 


"THE  COLOSSUS"  235 

On  the  square  he  had  reserved,  opposite  the 
Hotel  Woodworth,  now  in  the  very  business  heart  of  the 
city,  with  Major  Stamina  in  charge  of  the  construction, 
he  proceeded  to  build  a  mighty  structure  that  should 
occupy  the  entire  space.  "The  Colossus,"  he  called 
it,  in  honor  of  Opie  Read's  novel  of  that  name, 
and  it  arose  with  a  great  dome  at  the  center,  while  spires 
and  minarets  decorated  its  corners  and  the  archways  to 
its  arcades  ran  through  its  first  floor  like  the  arms  of 
a  Latin  cross,  east  and  west,  north  and  south.  Of 
stone,  iron  and  glass  it  became  a  grand  mart  of  retail 
trade,  in  every  line  possible  and  there  was  a  theatre  in 
the  dome,  reached  by  many  elevators  of  great  carrying 
capacity.  The  theatre  was  provided  with  the  most  elab 
orate  orchestrion  that  genius  could  produce,  and  that 
gave  forth  the  truest  music  befitting  secular  or  sacred 
events,  for  the  theatre  was  also  designed  to  be  used  as 
the  starting  point  of  a  universal  religion  based  upon  the 
"Golden  Rule,"  that  should  be  for  the  healing  of  the 
nations. 

Major  Stamina  was  installed,  because  he  was  a  just, 
generous  and  noble  man,  at  tne  head  of  all  this,  and  when 


236  "THE  COLOSSUS" 

everything  was  in  perfect  running  order,  he  and  his  wife 
and  Ted,  Jack,  Ada,  Campbell  and  the  two  doctors  made 
a  trip  to  trie  old  world  to  see  its  wonders. 

And  they  sat  in  the  shadow  of  the  silent  Sphinx. 

(THE  END.) 


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